


The Shadow of Erebor

by BobTales



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Erebor Reclaimed, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Inspired by The Lord of the Rings, Post-Desolation of Smaug, Post-Hobbit, Pre-Lord of The Rings, Romance, The Lord of the Rings References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 100,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28597569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobTales/pseuds/BobTales
Summary: (This is an updated version of the story by the same name, also written by BobTales.  For some reason, this older version is now credited to Anonymous, so as I was updating and editing, I decided to start a new page.  Sorry for the confusion)The great wyrm Smaug is dead, and there is once again a King Under the  Mountain. But the years following the Battle of Five Armies are not  quiet ones for the peoples of the North as a struggle to control the  wealth flowing from Erebor threatens to consume them. It is a chapter never told before, and it tells of the strength of love, the horror of war, and the rise of a kingdom that will help shape the Fourth Age of Middle Earth.





	1. Out From Under the Mallorn Trees

**Author's Note:**

> This story, after taking a COVID break, is back up and running. I am planning to get you a new chapter a week, which of course means you'll get three a month. Please feel free to comment, as the input is good for my middle aged soul.
> 
> I have used in this story a set of measurements not used often (or at all) in the modern world. Many of them have been used in the past, but are no longer commonly known. Their equivalents and descriptions are noted below should you wish to translate them into something you can picture in your mind.
> 
> BobTales
> 
> 1 Finger = 1" with five fingers in a hand (a hand is still used to measure the height of horses and is used in SOE to measure small items and the height of people or animals)  
> 1 Pace = 3 feet (A stride by a tall man, and is thus slightly more than 3.17'. 5000 paces make a league and 1000 paces or greater is usually stated as fractions of a league  
> 1 League = 3 miles (Leagues were used frequently as a measurement some time ago. Paces and leagues are used to measure distance over the ground.  
> 1 Fathom = 6 feet or 2 paces (Used to measure the height of something that isn't alive. A tree would usually be in Hands, while a cliff would be in fathoms)  
> 1 Stone = 14 pounds or 6.4 kg (still used in England, in SOE it is used for weight. The word pound is used only if the object weighs less than 1 stone. So 30 pounds is 2 stone 2) 
> 
> I will add others as they come up

The trip to Esgaroth would be an arduous one for young Galadwen, unaccustomed as she was to travel. Her being granted the position of handmaiden to the Lady Arawel had been her father's doing, a chance for his daughter to garner favor with a powerful family of Lorien, but she had leapt at the opportunity to see the world beyond her forest. At 87, she was still not seen as an adult, and her mother had kept her sheltered and protected within the trees, worried she would lose her as she had lost her only other child. Galadwen's brother, Eloren, had been killed fighting men More than a hundred years before her birth. He went to the West and never returned.

However, it had been five years since the fall of the great wyrm Smaug, and the dwarves reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel had deemed it important that the Galadhrim re-establish ties of trade and diplomacy with both the new King Under The Mountain, and the lake men that controlled the trade flowing from Erebor. And so, shortly after the spring floods ebbed, Galadwen left Lorien at the side of her mistress.

Lady Arawel traveled with her husband, Leindir, two handmaidens, a guard of fifty and a handful of pack handlers. Riding north along the east bank of the Anduin, the pace was measured, slow perhaps, if one were mounted. But for the warriors on foot, Galadwen thought the pace must be wearying. Still, her backside throbbed after each day's ride, making her wish she had taken her physical education more seriously.

Still, the world she gazed upon was new, and excitement overcame most of her aches. To the west across the broad Anduin, the Misty Mountains towered, their heights still wrapped in a cloud of winter frost. To the east, at the edge of her view, the green line marking the start of the great Mirkwood could just be seen. She had heard stories of an evil that had corrupted that forest, and dreaded the trip they would have to make across it. But for now it lay serenely at a distance, and instead she marveled at the endless fields of multicolored spring flowers that stretched out around her.

Her role as handmaiden it turned out was mostly ceremonial. Lady Arawel could care for herself, and other than helping with the daily packing and unpacking of the camp, Galadwen had much of her time to herself. She had brought ink and parchment and passed the time making notes and small drawings of the flora and fauna that interested her. She gossiped about some of the more attractive armsmen with the other handmaiden, a girl from a family with social aspirations like Galadwen's, but somewhat older than herself. Neither of them were committed, and they garnered more than a few interested looks from the younger, unpaired males of the guard.

Galadwen was widely considered one of the more comely maidens of her years. It was an opinion about which she was well aware, and which she sought to foster as best she could by brushing her long, golden hair nightly for an hour, and spending more than the usual time needed on skin care. The other handmaiden also spent evenings preening herself, but the few other females of the company, mostly guards, seemed more concerned with their duties, and the looks they threw the two young girls showed clearly their disdain.

On the seventh day the scream of a horse assaulted Galadwen's ears from somewhere to the rear of the caravan, followed immediately by the bellowed orders of sergeants. Lady Arawel and her husband rode off to the rear, leaving their entourage to try and control their jittery mounts. Galadwen looked towards the sounds of warriors yelling and the terrified screams of horses, but could see little more than a cloud of dust rising from behind low bushes. Then, in a burst of motion, a huge, lupine form bounded into sight over the low rise. It was a warg, she was told later, a giant wolf many times larger than the largest dog she had ever seen, and as it stretched out into a run, her horse panicked and she was thrown unceremoniously to the grass. Certain she was about to be eaten, she wrapped her arms over her head and curled into as small a target as she could manage, but as she did the snap of bowstrings rang out followed by yelps of pain. Peaking out from under her arms, she saw the beast had been brought down. It was thrashing and snarling weakly some twenty paces away, a froth of blood spraying from its jaws. Half a dozen white feathered arrows were buried deeply in its side and throat. One of the guards walked over, and with a sickening sound, pushed a spear deep between the ribs of the crippled wolf, which whimpered pathetically one final time, and lay still.

Six of the beasts had attacked the pack horses at the rear of the column. The wargs seemed underfed, and had been looking for horse flesh after a long, hungry winter. They had all been killed or driven off, but one guard had fallen. That evening he had been placed on a pyre as Arawel sang a song of mourning. Elves consider themselves immortal, and this was the first dead of her kind Galadwen had ever beheld. Decades later she would look back upon this day as the moment she had learned the truth of her kind: Elves did not age, at least not in ways a mortal could discern, but when an elf had his throat ripped out by a starving wolf, he was as mortal as any human in Middle Earth.

In the morning the guardsman gently moved the remains of the pyre to the Anduin, knowing its current would carry at least some of the ashes back to Lothlorien, then they broke camp and moved north east away from the river. As the sun peaked a scout came to Lady Arawel reporting a large bear pacing the column some distance to the north. She nodded and ordered that they make no attempt to harm or chase off the creature. When the scout gave her a puzzled look, she added, "That is no ordinary bear", but offered nothing else.

Rising in her saddle, Galadwen peered intently to her left. She had sharp eyes of light blue, and could see well even for an Elf, and after some time she thought she could make out a shape some miles off on a low rise. If it was a bear, it was a truly enormous creature. It seemed to be moving slowly along, matching the pace of the elves. Perhaps it's head was turned ever so slightly towards them. Could it be keeping an eye on them?

"That's silly", she thought to herself, and returned to her saddle as the beast passed from sight in some trees.

That evening Leindir continued onward with a small group of guards, returning mid morning the next day as the party continued towards the now prominent line of trees that dominated the eastern skyline.

"Our cousins have offered us their protection as we move through their realm," Leindir said to his wife as he guided his horse alongside hers.

She smiled, looking towards the approaching forest. "Protection. Of course. Were we given other options?"

"No".

She did not seem surprised and replied, "then we shall gratefully accept."

They camped that evening just paces from the edge of Mirkwood, setting out the next morning along an overgrown and poorly kept path that ran arrow straight eastward through the trees. At one point it had been a wide road, perhaps fifty paces across, with broad cobbles making travel easy and safe. Those days were long passed, the cobbles pried up as often as not leaving ruts and potholes that risked injuring the mounts, and heavy growth crowding in from both sides. In many places the trees had all but grown over the path shutting out much of the sun.

Galadwen had lived her entire life among trees and had never feared them, but here the trees seemed angered by the presence of strangers. Beyond the road lay a gloom that even her eyes had difficulty penetrating, and she couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched.

And perhaps she was. The protection they had been promised could now occasionally be glimpsed moving swiftly through the tangled growth on each side of them. They were certainly elves, but, from what little she saw of them, they were slighter than the Galadhrim, dressed in simple clothes and skins. They moved with amazing quickness considering the tangle of branches and roots that surrounded them, and seemed to be paying more attention to the party on the road than to anything in the forest they might be protecting their guests from.

They spent nine days in the stuffy, dark confines of Mirkwood, camping each night in the middle of the road, and not meeting any travelers going in either direction. By noon on the ninth day she noted the trees beginning to thin and the feeling of gloom began to recede. As they camped that night, the forest lay a quarter league behind them and Galadwen's relief at being out from under the branches of Mirkwood was obviously shared by all of her companions.

The Wood Elves never fully left the trees. She watched as Leindir spoke with one of their strange cousins under the last boughs, each giving the other a quick salute with a raised right hand, before turning to go their separate ways. She could hear water running some distance off and was told it was the River Celduin, flowing south from the Long Lake. In the morning they would strike north along its shores, arriving at the newly rebuilt city of Esgaroth in five days.

Keeping the Celduin on their right, they moved north for two days, passing through a hilly land covered with copses of dense trees, fingers stretching out from Mirkwood which still lay less than a league to the west. Galadwen was now eager to see the city of Esgaroth, having had it described by her mistress as an elegant city built almost a mile from the shore in the deep waters of the Long Lake. Accessed only by a bridge, it had been constructed, with the help of the wood elves, on sturdy wooden piers driven into the lake bed. Graceful arches and polished wooden surfaces adorned the buildings, a city of men with the soul of a woodland elf. Of course this was all second hand, as none of them had visited this new jewel of the North. Galadwen noted, with some surprise, a look of curiosity and excitement in the eyes of Arawel as she too looked forward to seeing what the determination of men and the art of elves had together constructed.

Galadwen's musings on this were interrupted by a commotion fifty paces to the front. A scout had ridden up hastily and dismounted. Punctuating his remarks with dramatic gestures, he had reported in to the sergeant of the vanguard. The sergeant in turn had grabbed the scout by the arm, and pulling him quickly along, approached Arawel and bowed his head in salute.

"A report for the commander, lady Arawel."

Arawel nodded. "The commander is away dealing with an issue with the rear guard. You may tell me."

"Tell lady Arawel what you just told me," the sergeant said sharply to the scout.

"Yes Sir." The scout looked young to Galadwen, or at least inexperienced, as age was not often measured by the elves. There was a slightly wild look in his eyes and he seemed flustered. "Orcs, my lady, perhaps as many as 150." He stopped and looked back to the sergeant as if asking what else he should say.

"Details scout," barked the sergeant. "Everything you told me."

"Ummmm. Yes Sir. Sorry Sir." He turned back to Arawel. "They have taken up positions in some rocks a league ahead along our route. They are well concealed and armed with bows. It appears as if they plan to ambush those passing along this road."

Arawel considered the news calmly. "Can we bypass them to the west, perhaps travel through the outskirts of Mirkwood?"

The scout shook his head. "I was told to report that others have spotted orc pickets to the west. They have eyes from the Celduin to the edge of the forest."

As Arawel considered the situation, Leindir rode up from the rear of the column.

"It appears I am not the only one with news," he commented looking at his wife's face and noting the nearby scout.

Arawel looked to her husband and grimaced. "Your arrival with news from the south does not bode well after what I have just heard."

"A band of orcs to our rear. We are unsure of the numbers but they were trying to follow without being noticed. Our rearguard surprised several of their scouts and we inflicted loses. To the best of our knowledge, the main force has begun to approach rapidly, now that they know they've been spotted."

Arawel took a deep breath. "How long do we have?"

"At our current pace, perhaps an hour. But we can outrun them."

Arawel shook her head. "There is a blocking force to our front, well placed in cover".

Leindir pursed his lips. "I can buy you some time to prepare, but a delaying action will cost lives".

"Mirkwood?" Arawel pondered.

Her husband looked west thoughtfully. "Perhaps. We are faster and have the speed to cross the open lands to the tree line. Once there however I cannot vouch for our safety. We would have to abandon our mounts in the dense undergrowth, and if the Orcs followed we would be fighting them on even footing, unless we plunged deep into the forest." Leindir paused before adding, "I have been strongly advised by our cousins against that."

"Arawel turned to look east. "To the river then. Lighten our packs and the horses can swim across."

Again Leindir replied. "The Celduin passes through the hills here in a rush. The current is very strong and the banks steep. Of those mounted, most would make the crossing, but those on foot would drown, perhaps to the last of them."

Arawel sagged in her saddle slightly. Galadwen could see the calculation passing through the mind of her mistress. Even using the pack horses and mounting two per animal, the river would cost at least half the expedition. Perhaps thirty would never see Lothlorien again.

"My lord?" It was the young scout speaking.

Leindir turned to look at him, raising his eyebrows slightly but not responding. After a brief hesitation, he assumed that this was permission to speak and continued.

"I as returned to give the report, I saw a hillock to the north east along the river." He indicated somewhat indistinctly in that direction. "It's sides were steep, but it had a broad gentle top. One side had washed away in a flood, and it backs onto the river, so we would only have two sides to defend. We could…"

Leindir waved his hand vigorously. "I can see what we could do scout. You have good eyes and you've given us some hope, but we can't hold out for long outnumbered four to one."

Lady Arawel looked to the sergeant. "My husband has determined the ground upon which we will fight, but we will need aid if we are to prevail. which one of your scouts is the best horseman?"

Galadwen smiled slightly as the young scout nervously raised his hand. The sergeant smiled too and nodded a confirmation.

Arawel looked the scout up and down as if re-assessing him. Galadwen also thought there wasn't much to him. Skinny and a bit long of limb, he seemed high strung and ungainly. Almost as if the proportions weren't right.

"You think you can out-ride anyone here?" Arawel asked incredulously.

For the first time it seemed the nervous look in the young elf's eyes burned away, and he seemed to draw himself up a little.

"My Lady. Truth be told I am mediocre with a sword, and my bow skills are not what I would want." He took a breath before continuing. "But on a horse, my Lady, I would ride one of the Valar into the ground."

Elves were often seen as haughty, but this was pure arrogance, and on a grand scale. Galadwen didn't know whether to laugh or be offended by this young elf declaring his horsemanship greater than that of the the creators, but Arawel broke into a broad smile.

"What is your name young one?" She asked

"Bellamdir, my Lady."

Arawel nodded. "Your mother had the gift of foresight, naming you great hope." Galadwen's mistress swung a leg over her saddle and dropped to the ground. Handing the reigns to Bellamdir, she instructed him.

"Cross the Celduin. This mount is strong, fast and will not falter in the current. Ride north with all the speed you can muster and find help from the Lake Men. Bade them to come with all haste as a high servant of Lady Galadriel is beset by orcs and will not survive long unaided. If needed, promise them what you must to bring them to our side."

The scout mounted in a single leap, looking to Arawel for one last message. She said, "Bellamdir, you are truly our great hope, and I fear our only hope. May the light of Elendil go with you."

Bellamdir nodded and turned his mount towards the river, and then pausing, looked back. "I welcome the light of our fairest star, but if it wishes to guide my way, it had best be able to keep up." He spurred his mount hard, and was away at a gallop.

Arawel, shaking her head in astonishment, turned to her husband. "I believe I misread that one when I first looked at him," she said quietly.

Leindir nodded and turned his horse away towards the troops forming some paces off. "Let us hope we both did."


	2. Baptism

Curious, Galadwen peeked out over the barricade. As their third night on the hillock drew near, it was obvious the situation for the remaining Galadhrim was dire. Bellamdir's assessment of this position had been sound with two sides protected by a sheer drops, one into the Celduis and the second into a small tributary. Here part of the hill was washed away making an approach from that direction impossible, should the way be defended. The other two sides were clear, but the grade was steep and defenders at the top were in a strong position. It's curve ran some 200 paces from the river to the wash and the small mount had many thick trees covering it's top.

These the elves chopped down during their first afternoon, fastening three logs together with rope into stout obstacles, between which they placed brush, smaller logs and even rocks to make a crude palisade. Near the middle of the enclosure they constructed a tall platform. From this vantage Leindir and Arawel could see to the base of their hillock in all directions. The two handmaidens were told to seek cover along the wash and to watch for enemies that might try to climb from the bottom unseen. Galadwen found herself positioned along this edge just ten paces from the palisade, a position she found uncomfortably exposed.

Along the curve of the palisade Leindir placed his troops in pairs, both armed with bows and surrounded by arrows stuck point first into the sod. For close fighting one carried a shield and a slightly curved long sword. The second had a slender spear and could strike through the obstacle at the enemy protected by his companion with the shield.

The orcs had not been certain of the strength of the quarry they had cornered, and were cautious the first night, firing arrows from the cover of distant brush and launching a pair of probing attacks. The arrows had been useless, and the attacks had been easily repulsed, but by morning the foul creatures had the measure of their enemy and every elf knew that the following evening would bring an attack.

As darkness fell the orcs began jeering and cursing from the shelter of the scrub. They yelled out in harsh, broken Westron, describing how they would defile the bodies of those they killed, and rape any females they took captive. It terrified Galadwen as she pictured herself ravaged repeatedly until a welcome death finally came. Around the perimeter she could see the soldiers too were uneasy, but Leindir walked the line giving each reassuring words and their courage was restored.

As midnight approached a score or more of the orcs rushed from cover near the tributary and stormed towards the wall behind which Galadwen hid. The guards in that area waited until half the distance had been covered, and then let loose arrows. They fired steadily, but not without taking aim first. Arrows were in limited supply, and could probably never be recovered as long as they were besieged.

She looked towards Leindir and saw him clearly in the moonlight standing atop the platform watching the attack intently. He had half a dozen of his best warriors standing below him, to be rushed to aid where needed, but for now he held them back and simply watched. Then came a huge roar from the far side of the hill. As inexperienced as she was with warfare, even Galadwen knew now the attack near her had been a feint, and indeed she was right. Leindir spun to watch this new threat and through the night air the young elf heard the whine of arrows. Soon this was replaced by the clash of arms and the cries of the combatants. Leindir pointed, and the reserves ran off towards the sound of the fighting. After what seemed an eternity the sounds began to die away, replaced by moaning and then a dreadful silence.

The wounded were brought from the front and laid out near where Galadwen held watch, and two soldiers with medical skills began tending to them. Then came others, this time born solemnly by their comrades. They did not move or cry out, and were laid gently on the grass just paces from her.

She thought not to look, but dark curiosity won over and she stood to get a better view. Some of the dead looked as if they were simply asleep, but others had grievous wounds. A skull cloven open, or a belly sliced across and emptied, entrails spilling out onto a light green carpet of spring grass. This was not how the stories she had listened to as a child spoke of death. It was always clean and noble. This was grisly, barbaric and violent. She turned away, falling to her knees to wretch.

The second assault came in the early morning. Again they attacked the perimeter farthest from Galadwen, but this time there was no attempt at a feint. She watched as Leindir committed his meager reserves, and then pulled every second pair of soldiers from the line nearest her hiding spot, sending them out of sight towards the terrifying sounds of battle. Finally Leindir turned to his wife, and kissing her once gently on the forehead, drew his sword and leapt from the platform, rushing out of sight over the low rise.

Finally the ring of weapons and the screams of the warriors fell away, once again replaced by eerie silence. The commander reappeared walking slowly. He cradled his left arm against his stomach and appeared to be wounded. Arawel moved to descend from the platform, but Galadwen's keen eyes caught the quick shake of Leindir's head.

"He's telling her she is the leader and can't be his wife just now", Galadwen thought to herself. A wave of sorrow swept through the elf maid, both for her mistress and her husband. She knew they wanted to console each other, but because of their positions, couldn't.

The rest of the night passed and no further attacks materialized. With the morning came a fuller grasp of what had transpired the previous night. As Galadwen walked the mound she could see as many as forty dead forms lying on the slopes beyond the crude wall. A good number lay in grass before the barricade, struck down by arrows as they rushed across the open ground. Disturbingly she noted almost all had tried to drag themselves back to the safety of the woods, their bodies stretched out reaching back towards the cover of the low trees, dark blood staining the grass in a trail behind them. Again she thought back to the noble deaths in the stories her elders had told her. Not once had someone died bleeding in a dark field trying with their last, terrified breaths to claw their way back to safety.

More terrifying still were the orc dead within the perimeter. A score of the enemy had breached the makeshift wall and pressed towards the top of the hill. These had been hacked with swords and punctured by spears, and their wounds were grotesque. Galadwen had never seen any form of goblin before, and their dark features, broad flat noses, and wide mouths full of pointed teeth disturbed her. Oddly though, it was their ears that troubled her the most. So much like hers.

Returning to stand next to her mistress, Galadwen was there when Leindir, his left arm now bandaged and in a sling, made his report on the previous night. They counted sixty-seven dead orcs, which Galadwen thought a very great number, and in comparison to the losses for the elves, seemed at first to indicate a victory. Twelve of Lothlorien were dead, with a further twenty three wounded. Of those, many could be put back on the line, but eleven were too seriously injured and would have to recuperate. Some might not survive.

They had slain more than five for every one they had lost, and yet as Galadwen's mind calculated the new odds, a grim reality set in. At the beginning of the night they were outnumbered perhaps four to one. Now, with only half of the soldiers fit to man the walls, the odds had lengthened. The enemy now outnumbered them five, perhaps even six to one. Worse still, nearly every arrow had been spent, and leaving the protection of their low wall to retrieve those they had fired would invite a hail of orcish arrows.

The day passed with the troops reinforcing the barricade as best they could, and the other handmaiden attending to the wounded. Galadwen, being small and lithe, was lowered by rope down the face of the cliff along the Celduin. Here she found a small purchase just inches above the rushing water, and filled pots lowered to her from above. She was grateful for the relative peace, out of sight of the bodies above, with the rushing water drowning out the moans of the wounded. The only break in her routine came just after noon when she heard a cry from someone above. Looking upstream she saw a wide, low boat with raised bow and stern, floating down the current. There were oars, but she could only see their paddles protruding from inside the craft. It was spinning slowly, turned by the eddies in the river, and appeared unguided.

Galadwen looked up to see if they would draw her back to the top, but by now the boat was spinning past her some fifteen paces into the river. Above she could see many soldiers watching, some holding bows, though without arrows these were useless. She felt completely exposed, and for a moment panic began to set in, but almost immediately it subsided. The boat was empty, save for a pair of large, brown leather bags just visible over its low sides.

Galadwen thought of the maps she had seen of their route and recalled the nearest settlement being more than a day upstream. It was odd that a boat would have drifted this far unguided, without running aground somewhere. Shading her eyes from the sun overhead she focused intently upstream, but saw nothing. A disturbance in the water perhaps, five hundred paces along the near bank? It was hard to tell, but her instincts told her something had been standing in the shallow water there just a moment before. But now, nothing.

The boat had slipped past now, and since leaving the protection of their hilltop to chase it was impossible, another jar bounced down the cliff and Galadwen returned to her task. When she was done and pulled back up the escarpment, she returned to the pedestal to see what other uses could be made of her.

Arawel and Leindir were talking together in low tones when she arrived, and realizing no-one else was within earshot, she thought about dropping back to allow them to speak in private.

"… and we can not reliably begin to hope for aid for two more nights," Leindir was saying.

"Can we last through this night?"

"Possibly, although if the enemy grasps our weakness and lack of arrows, a fully committed attack stands a chance of overwhelming us."

Arawel looked exhausted. "Mount and cross the river then. They would not be able to pursue."

Galadwen could see Leindir calculating in his mind. "We have eleven mounts. Doubling up, we could send twenty two across the river. I have twenty seven manning the wall, five pack stewards still alive, two handmaidens and you under my protection. The horses can not take them all, and of course the wounded will have to be abandoned."

Arawel's shoulders dropped slightly. "We will survive this night. If help hasn't arrived by late tomorrow afternoon we will attempt the crossing. By that time, I fear the mounts will be able to carry off those few of us left able to ride."

Leindir nodded. "Agreed." He took a long breath, and Galadwen knew he was steeling himself to say something. "If we are forced to flee tomorrow, I will not be going."

Arawel's eyes shot up to meet those of her husband. "You will lead us across the river and ensure the safety of the survivors," she snapped in a commanding tone that defied the fear Galadwen saw in her eyes.

Leindir shook his head briefly. "The horses can find there own way across, and I will not abandon the wounded as if they do not matter."

Arawel drew her shoulders back and met her husbands eyes with a steely glare. "I am in command here. Your orders are to continue with your duties until I relieve you."

Leindir's eyes softened, and reaching forward with his good arm, he gently brushed her cheek. "You are in charge of the diplomatic mission. I am the military commander. My dearest, I am not asking your permission."

Arawel continued to hold herself rigidly in front of her husband, but in the afternoon light Galadwen could see tears beginning to run down the strong woman's cheeks. Feeling tiny and unimportant, Galadwen slipped back to her spot along the wash, and covering her head with her traveling cloak, sobbed deeply for her mistress.

Night fell and Galadwen rose. She walked the few steps to where the dead had been laid and began looking over the covered bodies. The wounds were hidden under cloaks and shields, but a sweet stench had begun to fill the air. Something had changed though, and she was harder now. She put the smell aside.

Pulling back one of the riding blankets she looked into the still face of what had once been an attractive elven woman. She had been struck in the eye by an arrow, and Galadwen could recall her screams from the night before as she died at the aid station. Now, she was simply a source of equipment. Soldiers nearby moving towards the palisade gave her a strange look as she pulled the pointed helm and mail coif from the fallen warrior, but quickly they realized what she was intending, and moved on to take their positions. Next she removed the mail suit. This required effort, rolling the corpse one way and then another until it pulled free over the dead woman's head.

The soldier had been somewhat taller than Galadwen, so she left the greaves and vambraces, but spent several minutes unlacing and removing the padded silk gambison. With this done, she covered the body again with the blanket.

Removing her flowing, light blue blouse left her exposed with just a thin, linen under garment covering her torso. This too garnered more than a few looks from the troops along the palisade. Her mother had urged her daughter to wear loose fitting under clothes so as to make her figure more modest, but Galadwen found the boys her age rather admired her full chest, and she had been known to use it to her advantage wearing snug clothing. Today she didn't give two damns what anyone thought, and threw the gambison over her shoulders, lacing it into place.

It was a bit long in the body and tight in the chest, but sufficient for the purpose at hand, and she quickly pulled the mail shirt over her head, shrugging it into position over the gambison. This too was somewhat large, with the sleeves hanging several inches below the elbows and the shirt trailing to her knees. Next went the coif, and over that the helmet which, when buckled, was the one piece that fit well.

Looking about she saw several spears stacked nearby. Taking one, she planted her feet shoulder width apart and practiced a few thrusts. Like all the Galadhrim, she had taken the required weapons training, but with her mother's loss of a son to battle, she had been dissuaded from making a serious effort at learning the forms, instead focusing on poetry, languages, mathematics and music. The beauty of those arts had captivated the young girl and she grew to love them all. This evening however, was not a night for poetry.

Satisfied she had done what she could, Galadwen walked to the wall, taking up a position next to a pair of grim warriors at the far right of the defenses where the barricade met the wash. There were no words spoken. The half dozen that saw her standing steadily with the butt of her spear grounded by her right foot simply looked her over, and then with silent nods of approval, turned and joined her staring downhill into the night. All of them were waiting to see if they would be there to greet another sunrise.

The ground over which they would fight and die was well lit with a nearly full moon beginning to rise above the low hills at their backs. Within an hour she spotted movement in the brush three hundred paces distant, crouched black forms moving from her left and taking up positions sheltered in the darkness of the scrub. Straining her eyes she thought she could see even more forms two hundred paces further back in the trees, although how many there might be was beyond her power to discern. That more than one wave was lining up to meet them was enough.

"So the hammer will fall here tonight", she said quietly. "This is good. I will not wait to find out my fate, but face it directly". They were brave words, but she was unsure if she believed them.

The forms crouched in the brush rose and walked with a measured pace into the open, beginning the climb towards the top of the hill. A guard near her called out, "enemy to the front", a cry that was echoed elsewhere along the wall as the first row of orcs drew up at the base of the rise. A second, more numerous row stood behind, just a few steps from the low brush they had used for cover, and which stretched backwards to the trees. Receiving no volleys, they advanced another twenty paces, Galadwen watched as the front row raised short-bows and fired a volley of black shafted arrows towards the waiting elves.

The cry went out, "Cover," but she stood fast, her spear tip lowered, waiting and watching. Arrows landed about her, quivering in the grass, thudding into the wood of the palisade. One glanced from the side of her helm. Another must have struck her armor below the left breast, the blow knocking some wind from her, but she stood. It was mostly for show, she realized, they were testing to see if the elves would return the volley. Testing to see if they had arrows to fire back. Leindir's worry that the enemy would realize the weakness of their foe was coming to pass, and she knew a full assault would soon follow.

And it came with a roar, the second row of orcs bursting from behind their bowmen and rushing up the hill. For the first time she took note of her enemy. Their black armor was all of the same make and the assaulting troops each carried rectangular black shields with a red eye emblazoned across the center, a tear of blood falling from one corner. This was no simple troop of marauding murderers, but instead a warband, trained and equipped for fighting. This foe would test everyone on the hill.

A quick flash of light drew her eye upwards slightly. The figures she had seen earlier in the trees were moving forward now, couching as had the earlier wave, moving cautiously through the brush. She could mark no details of the forms approaching, other than one, who walked slightly behind the main line. As it moved forward, she saw another flash of light. Moonlight glinting off the helm perhaps? Whatever had drawn her attention, the size of the figure made an impression. Even stooping slightly as he advanced, he was clearly much taller than anyone around him, yet somehow, he gave the elf girl the impression that he was simply following along.

The crash of bodies impacting the palisade snapped her attention back to where she was. Along her section of the wall fifteen or more orcs now stormed the defenses. Some hacked at the elves, blows landing on wood or shield that did nothing, but others leapt at the palisade trying to climb over or force their way through. To her left a spearman lunged at an orc struggling over the obstacle, his speartip driving into its target just below the chin. The orc fell between the logs with a blood choked gurgle, his thrashing dying away quickly. Other warriors in her area engaged targets with blows being traded in a deadly dance. Then, just to her right she saw a black mailed figure attempting to climb around the last of the logs in the wall. She turned slightly to meet him as he clambered towards her, trying to keep a clear mind and pick a spot to strike.

She was quick but slight, and the orc's armor seemed solid. As he stepped over the last of the logs, she saw her chance, a leg raised pulling the lower edge of his mail upwards, exposing the inner thigh. She lunged, driving the point of her spear into the target with as much force as she could muster. The blow went home, diving under her enemy's armor into the inner thigh and groin. She pulled back her spear, and noted its point and several inches of shaft glistening black in the light of the full moon. The scream of pain was followed by a spray of blood, and the creature collapsed downward landing just inside the perimeter. Although her fallen enemy continued to howl and thrash, she forced herself to look for other targets. This one was dead, even if it had not yet come to that realization. All along her part of the wall elves and orcs struggled with each other across the barricade. And then, that flash of silver light again.

Once again her eye was drawn away from the fighting, this time to the base of the hill. The dark forms from the trees had reached the edge of the brush and in a line moved forward. They moved quickly now, but Galadwen could see the control in their step. Move with haste, but move quietly. There were bows strung across many of their backs, but they carried spears or broad bladed stabbing swords in their hands. The orcish bowmen who were moving slowly up the hill to support their brethren were impaled without mercy from behind on spears, or beheaded by a vicious sweep of a blade.

And there behind them stood a giant of a man, for she could see now that they were men. He didn't rush forward with the others, but walked with a modest pace some distance behind. His hair was long, dropping below his shoulders, and Galadwen saw now that the silver light was the moon reflecting from it.

Once again she brought her attention back to the battle in front of her. "There are humans at the foot of the hill," she cried.

The other elves kept their attention on the barricade, but she saw the sergeant risk a quick glance downhill. "You are certain of this?" he asked.

"I am."

He paused momentarily, and then. "Run girl. Tell the commander what you have seen." Then, when Galadwen hesitated he barked, "Damn you soldier. Go now!"

She dropped her spear in shock and ran for the hilltop. It was less than a hundred paces, and she was surprised at her exhaustion as she approached the command platform. Perhaps the armor weighed more than she had thought?

Leindir stood next to his wife intent on the struggle on the side of the hill away from the approaching relief force. Exhausted, and needing to catch her breath, she paused for just a moment at the rear of the platform, and as she did, a cry was raised from the palisade to her front.

"Rider approaching!"

Curious, Galadwen peered through the legs of the platform towards the center of the perimeter. She had been wrong about the orcs attacking her flank, it was a general attack with a fierce struggle taking place all along the defenses. Then, from around the right side of a long row or orcish archers, a galloping horse appeared. At first she thought it was riderless, but looking again she saw a single foot hooked over the saddle, a hand clinging to the pommel. Now she saw the face of the rider peering from behind the heaving chest of his mount, looking from under its throat. He had slid down the side of his horse shielding himself from bow fire with it's body, and still the horse galloped at full stride, bowling through several orcs in front of the palisade. In one motion, with the rider righting himself in the saddle, the steed leapt gracefully through a low point in the wall, landing in stride and continuing on to where Leindir stood on his tower.

It was, of course, Bellamdir. Galadwen had known it would be from the moment she saw the riders face peering from behind the chest of his mount. He was smiling broadly, an out of place expression surrounded as he was by the cries and clamor of battle.

"My lord," he said, his horse dancing beneath him as he addressed the commander. "Infantry from Esgaroth will be here to aid you in but a few moments." He had lost his helm, replacing it with a broad flat cap with a large red feather along one side. He accentuated his proclamation by removing it and waving it vigorously in the air.

At this Galadwen found her voice again. "Commander, they are here already, on the right flank!" As if shouting these words were all she could bear to do, she was wracked with a fit of coughing, and stumbling slightly to one side, found she had to use the platform on which the commander stood to keep herself upright.

She saw Leindir look off to his right, an expression of relief crossing his face as Galadwen's vision darkened. Grasping the platform for support, she tried to remain upright, but slowly her eyes closed and consciousness slipped away.


	3. The Hands of a Healer

There was a voice. Low and soft and powerful. She should understand what it was saying, but she couldn't. Then there is was again, not Sindarin, but the common tongue. Westeron.

"Breath in."

For all the years she had studied languages, she had never found cause to use them, and it took her a moment to place the words. Realizing finally what was said, she inhaled, and light exploded in her mind. Her eyes snapped open and she tried to take in what was around her. It was quiet, so the battle was over, and the voice was certainly not that of an orc, so they had won. Focusing her vision she saw in front of her the broad chest of a man.

"Quite a strong chest at that," she thought, laughing at how that had been her first thought in this situation. She must have fallen down.

Looking to gather her legs under her, she concluded that in fact she hadn't fallen and was still propped upright against the commander's platform. She focused her eyes again. The chest was still there.

"That would mean….", the thought ran through her mind as she craned her neck to look up.

He was magnificent!

No…. she meant massive.

He was a massive man, taller by two hands or more than the tallest person she had ever known. He looked down on her with soft eyes that were more blue than she could describe. And his hair, it was sliver. She had never seen this type of silver before. It was not silver like the metal from which her comb was made, but more like moonlight. By the fourteen he was striking!

She shook the thought from her head. She had just been in a pitched battle. She had killed an orc with her own spear, and here she was ogling a man, a human man for that matter, like a dizzy schoolgirl.

Then the voice returned. It was still soft and powerful, and it was his.

Oh by the light! And on top of it all he has a voice like that.

"You have an arrow in your side, my lady," he said. "We must remove it."

An arrow? What nonsense. She looked down, and indeed there was an arrow lodged several inches into her left side.

"How odd." For some reason she said this aloud bringing a warm smile to the face of the giant.

"Indeed it is, my lady. Unfortunately it has turned since it struck you. There will be some discomfort as it is removed."

Something was wrong with her mind. She wasn't thinking clearly. Maybe it was whatever she had just inhaled. Or maybe she was distracted by those muscular arms. Why hadn't she noticed those arms before?

The silver haired giant looked at Leindir who, although still on his platform, was not far above his eye level. "I will need your assistance my lord, if you might?"

It wasn't an order, but there was a firmness and insistence in the tone, and without seeming to think, Leindir climbed from his platform. "What can I do to help?"

"I will re-position the arrow," responded the giant. "Then, when I direct you, withdraw the arrow smoothly and firmly." His blue eyes looked intently into the face of the commander, "Do you understand, my lord?"

Leindir nodded.

"Let us get her seated first, her back against this post." Gently he guided Galadwen down and sat her against the platform's support. Kneeling next to her, he reached across her body and, lightly grasping the shaft of the arrow, rotated it slightly.

A searing pain such as she had never felt before shot through Galadwen's body and she shoved hard against the giant, trying to jump to her feet. But she didn't move, even the smallest bit. The huge man had his hand pressed into her right side pinning her to the post against which she sat. By the gods he was strong. And that hand was perilously close to her breast. Strange it got there without her noticing.

Damn it all, she couldn't focus. Please let it be whatever she had inhaled that was causing this light headedness.

Reaching into a pouch at his side, her caregiver drew out a small, green leaf. From another pouch he produced light red berry which he placed on the leaf, rolling it all into a ball between his hands. Next he said several words in a language Galadwen did not recognize, and after exhaling deeply onto the ingredients, he placed them in his mouth, chewing for a few moments. Removing the cud, he looked in a gentle way at the young elven girl.

"My lady, we are going to remove the arrow now. It will be painful, but it must be done, and I promise you will suffer only a very brief time."

Galadwen looked nervously to Leindir. The commander was not looking at her but instead at the giant, a look of curiosity seemed to be on the ageless warrior's face. Noticing Galadwen looking at him, Leindir laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"It is alright my dear", he said in Sindarin. "I suspect there is more to this lad than simply his size. I believe you are in good hands."

Galadwen paused for a moment. Lad? What lad? Looking at her medic again, she studied his face more deeply. Maybe it had been the eyes, but how had she failed to see this before? He was little more than a boy, young even by human standards.

The giant looked to Leindir and respectfully dropped his eyes. "Thank you my lord," he replied in very passable, if oddly accented Sindarin. "You honor me with your trust. Withdraw the arrow when you are ready."

A look of shock crossed Leindir's face. "How did a young human boy come to speak our tongue?"

The giant continued to concentrate fully on Galadwen. "I will happily discuss my education with you my lord, after we remove the arrow."

Leindir shook his head slightly as if clearing his mind. "Of course. I apologize."

Galadwen was stunned. Leindir apologized? Then a blinding pain surged through her side and her thoughts scattered. She struggled to lash out, but the giant had his hand on her and she was further restrained by someone from behind.

"Remove her armor, I must see the wound."

Hands took her from all sides and her helm and coif were discarded, the mail shirt pulled quickly over her head. Her gambison was removed in a few seconds, she assumed the laces had been cut, and she heard her undergarment torn on her left side. Her vision returned somewhat and was consumed by the form of the giant leaning over her. With one finger he pushed the poultice into the hole in her side. The wound was emitting a strange noise, a bubbling, sucking sound, like air in water. A broad leaf, the size of the giants hand appeared from somewhere, and a salve was smeared on it in a rapid, efficient manner. It was placed firmly over the hole.

Then, from another pouch, came a long linen bandage. How many pouches did this boy have? He wrapped this around her twice, fully covering the leaf and a knot was tied sharply down on the injured area. This brought another jolt of pain, and Galadwen inhaled sharply. The hands were back, holding her from behind, but this time she remained still and endured. One more wrap around her body and another knot, this one just below her sternum, and the work was done. The pain of the wound was already subsiding and Galadwen realized the whole affair had taken perhaps half a minute.

She looked up for the face of her benefactor. She was short of breath and still dizzy from the pain, but even if she couldn't speak, she wanted her eyes to reflect the thanks she felt for this enormous man's aid. Surprisingly her savior was not paying her the slightest attention, instead he had stood and was looking in an almost random manner into the night sky to his right. Similarly Leindir seemed distracted, turning to his left and intently looking at the dirt under his fingernails.

A saddle blanket dropped over her left shoulder. "Wrap up dear," it was the voice of lady Arawel. It had been her hands holding her from behind during her treatment, Galadwen now realized.

"Thank you my lady," Galadwen croaked reaching across with her right hand to pull the blanket about her. The night had been breezy and comfortable, but now the light wind had a chill that settled on her skin and made her shiver.

Then an awful thought sprung to mind. Glancing down she saw her light, linen undershirt had been ripped open from her waist to just under her shoulder exposing her entire upper body. She felt blood rushing to her face and choked back a shocked wail. Snatching the blanket across her sent another stab of pain through her side, but she didn't care about that. She felt Arawel's arms grasp the blanket gently from behind as she helped tie it into place behind her.

"Gently my child," her mistress said softly. "We don't want to aggravate your injury, and both of those two are decent men and will never speak of this." The last part Arawel delivered somewhat more forcefully, and it was answered by grunts of agreement and nods. "We should get her to the aid station."

But lady Arawel needn't have mentioned it. Even as she spoke the giant youth was scooping up Galadwen. Holding her lightly and with no apparent effort, he struck out for the rear of the encampment where the wounded were being treated.

"My lady," he said to Arawel in the same strong voice he had used with her husband. "The commander has the military situation well in hand. Perhaps I could instruct you as to the care of my patient?"

Galadwen looked up at the powerful, young stranger. His features were framed by his long, silver locks which hung in gentle waves to below his shoulders. His face was angular, his jaw strong, square and clean shaven. She would say he had the face of a warrior, were it not for the eyes. His eyes were blue, and deep, and soft. And sad.

For a split second he glanced down at his charge and their eyes met. And then, just as quickly he looked away again with an almost nervous grimace. He couldn't be that shy, could he? Was he blushing?

Throughout this he was talking in his low, soft voice. "She has suffered a failure of her lung, my lady."

Arawel must be with them.

"When she rests, she must lie on the wounded side, this will allow her good lung to breath easily. In the morning the poultice will have sealed the hole and we will be able to remove the patch on her side. At that point the lung will regain it's vigor and she will want to rise. Allow her to sit upright, but until I stitch the wound she should not walk."

Galadwen was drifting off, and she turned herself slightly in his powerful arms, pressing her face into his chest, feeling safe. He responded by pulling her just slightly more tightly against him.

"Very familiar of him", she thought as she drifted off. "Very familiar indeed".

She had a very pleasant dream. She was floating gently, looking up at a blue, clear sky. It was a warm, spring day, but the breeze was pleasant and cool, and she could hear water flowing. Galadwen took a deep breath and she smelled grass and wildflowers.

"If you feel strong enough my Lady, you should sit up and drink." She knew that soft voice. It was pleasant too.

A face leaned in blocking her view of the sky. It was the strong, square face of the giant, still framed by his flowing hair which hung down to just inches above her face.

Good. She liked romantic dreams and she let it take her.

Galadwen saw his lips move and the soft voice said something she couldn't quite grasp. She felt a pressure in the small of her back and she was lifted gently.

"Of course. A kiss," she thought as she felt her protector's hair gently slide across her cheek. She rose a little to meet him, her eyes closing, her head tilting backwards to meet his lips.

"My lady?"

The voice was not as soft now. Closer to terrified. And there was a girl's giggling coming from somewhere. What was happening to her dream? Galadwen's eyes slowly opened and she focused on the slightly panicked face of the silver haired youth. Her lips were slightly parted and her head tilted back. His mouth was just inches from hers. There was that giggling again.

"Oh by the Valar", she thought. "Not a dream". She averted her eyes quickly and drew back. The large man was holding a water skin in one hand and was propping her up with the other. A distraction. She needed a distraction.

"My neck was a bit sore, My lord." It was the best she could do on short notice. "I must have slept awkwardly. Thank you for the water."

There was another burst of girlish giggling coming from somewhere behind the giant. Turning to face him, he helped her sit up. Tipping the waterskin slightly so she could drink, she gratefully accepted the offer. Her mouth felt parched and the cool water was a blessing as it ran down her throat. After several deep draws from the skin, she had a chance to take in her surroundings.

She was in a low sided boat. "Like the one I saw adrift on the river", she thought. Seated with her back to the prow, Galadwen saw that it had several benches running it's width, with large packages of folded cloth stored in the bottom between them. She assumed they were tents, and she saw that they had made a bed, laying her feet in the prow with the tents underneath and her head resting on the forward bench.

There were three of them in the boat. Silima was at the tiller standing behind the giant. Her eyes were sparkling with amusement as she looked at her friend. Galadwen felt her face flush as she thought again about what had just happened. The giant was seated on the middle bench facing her. The small craft was not designed for a man of his size and he looked awkwardly balanced as he stared intently at the small elf girl seated in front of him.

Galadwen looked down at herself. She was in a beautiful silk dress, blue with sliver embroidery, that hung to her feet. It was certainly not hers. She could not afford anything as extravagant as this, and there were soft slippers on her feet. She ran her fingers across her brow and through her hair.

"My hair is combed?" She hadn't intended it, but she said it aloud.

The big man looked a little chagrined. "Yes my lady," he answered, drawing her silver comb from his pocket and handing it to Galadwen. "I ensured you were cared for as you slept."

Behind him, Silima was making an extravagant combing gesture and absolutely beaming with amusement. "He combed your hair," she mouthed silently.

Looking back at the giant she saw him blushing furiously and staring down into the water at a leaf that had just become of great interest. How sweet.

Galadwen reached out and took the silver comb from his large hand. It was about six fingers across and had been a gift from her doting father when she was still a small child. It consisted of two beautifully depicted Mallorn leaves, their stems crossing, which formed the backbone, and delicate teeth of a dark, polished wood. It was of exquisite workmanship and was Galadwen's most treasured possession. Seeing it again comforted her immensely.

"Thank you my Lord," she said softly, her fingers sliding across his hand for a moment. "You have been more kind to me than I could expect of someone I do not know."

He still blushed, and a twig in the river had replaced the leaf as the center of his focus, but he seemed to relax. "Thank you, but I am no lord. I help keep bar at my mother's tavern."

That surprised Galadwen. He was shy, yes, but during the battle he had been confident, even commanding. She remembered how both Arawel and Leindir had allowed him to take over her care without even asking his name. What was his name?

"I will stop calling you lord, good sir, if you would only tell me your name."

Looking up from the river, the giant looked into Galadwen's eyes. "I am Earendil, my lady. Of Dale. I apologize for not introducing myself properly before this." He bowed his head formally.

Galadwen paused, thinking back on her lessons concerning history and language. Earendil was not a Dalish name. Gondorian? Perhaps even more ancient. Numerian?

"I am honored to meet you Earendil. I am a very young woman, and 'my lady' simply isn't appropriate."

"She's not even old enough to choose a mate," Silima chimed in from behind, resulting in more blushing from both man and elf.

Damn that girl, she was ruining the moment! Galadwen shot Salima the most vicious stare she could muster, garnering only a broad grin and a shoulder shrug in return. Turning her attention back to Earendil, she bowed her head slightly in return. "My name is Galadwen of Lothlorien."

"It is my pleasure to meet you, Galadwen," he responded and looked at her deeply for a moment.

It was Silima again that spoiled things. "If you two are done gazing at each other, it seems we are making camp for the afternoon."

Galadwen looked up startled. She had been so distracted by the introduction that she had not taken the time to determine where she was. Looking about her she saw she was in one of perhaps a dozen similar boats. Each had two or three people aboard, many of whom were lying down. The boats were low in the water, appeared heavily laden and occasionally were towing a second craft behind it, equally weighed down. The boats in turn had long ropes tied to their bows which led ashore. Here horses were pulling the craft upstream, guided by elves with dozens of men walking along the bank beside them.

Galadwen realized these boats must belong to the humans. They had loaded the wounded and supplies into them, releasing the horses to pull them upstream against the current. That meant they were heading north, which made sense, but how long had she slept? The river was wide here, the current slow, and the banks shallow, but she could see little beyond them. The few tree tops she saw were scattered, and the hills they had fought their battle in were nowhere to be seen.

"Earendil. How long have I been asleep?"

"Almost two days, my lady." Earendil shook his head, angry at himself for the slip, but continued. "I'm afraid the arrow that struck you was poisoned, and in the confusion of the battle I missed the signs. By the time I tended you in the morning, and noticed my oversight, the poison had spread." The large man dropped his eyes, embarrassed by his mistake. "My treatments for the corruption were successful, but your energy was spent and you required much rest. I am sorry. My lapse almost cost you your life."

Galadwen put her hand under the massive man's chin lifting his face and looking into his eyes. "Nonsense. It was night and judging by the number of wounded in the other boats, I'd say you were very busy. I owe you my life, good Earendil. I will never be able to repay you."

Silima spoke up again. "Oh Galadwen. We will be with these fine folk for many nights yet. I'm sure you and this strapping young man could find a way for you to repay your debt."

Galadwen blushed furiously yet again at the implication, and avoiding Earendil's eyes, turned to watch as Silima guided her boat into the shore. As soon as it ran aground, the giant stepped awkwardly over the side. Both of the young elves had to find handholds as the boat rocked dangerously with the shifting weight, but with a strong heave, the craft was drawn several paces further up the bank and made secure with a stake and a length of rope. Once this was done, the giant reached back over the side and offered to lift Galadwen from her bench.

"The bank is muddy, and your clothes are so fine," he explained, as Galadwen protested that she was able to climb from a boat unaided.

She did have to agree with that line of reasoning, and since the clothes were not hers, she allowed herself to be cradled by the big man and carried gently onto the grassy bank.

Silima now pointedly cleared her throat, and when Earendil looked back to her, she fixed him with a meaningful stare. Seeing his error, he stepped back down the bank and leaned in to help the second handmaiden to the shore.

She almost leapt into his arms, forcing Earendil to catch her while maintaining his balance. Draping her left arm around his neck, she sighed dramatically and lay her cheek against the large man's chest. Taking two steps up the bank, he gently placed his burden down, receiving a gentle squeeze on a muscular arm as she backed away.

"Thank you my Lord," Silima said with a small curtsy. "A lady feels so safe in your arms."

Earendil was clearly overwhelmed. Stammering something unintelligible, he nodded to Silima, then again quickly to Galadwen, before hurrying up the low sloping bank to where several other men stood. Here he was stopped by a dark haired soldier in worn, but well cared for ring mail, and they began talking earnestly.

Silima walked over and stood next to her friend, and together they looked up. Earendil had his back to them, and as he listened to the man in the mail, other soldiers appeared from the far side of the bank. One handed him a dark leather cuirass, which he immediately threw over his shoulders and began to buckle up the side. A second man brought a large pack, which he struggled to carry, dropping it at Earendil's feet. A third brought a long wooden staff, as tall as the lad himself. All the while he was nodding as the man in ring mail spoke forcefully to him.

Silima sighed again. "He may look even better from this angle," she said quietly, jabbing Galadwen lightly in the side with her elbow.

Galadwen had considered that. Broad shoulders, now accentuated by the cuirass, topped a wide, muscular back which tapered into a narrow waist. He was wearing leather breeches, probably of doeskin, which might be a little tight in the backside. That brought a smile to her face. "No. Not too tight at all."

"You're thinking the same thing I am."

Galadwen Glanced sideways at Silima and found an evil smile beaming back at her. Trying to adopt an innocent air she lied. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Silima rolled her eyes dramatically. "Please dear girl, he's gorgeous. Obviously it would be better if he were elven, but look me in the eye and tell me you don't dream of what he's look like in the baths."

Galadwen's eyes widened in shock, to which Silima raised her hands defensively and shrugged. "Well far be it for me to question your taste in men," she said looking back up at Earendil. "Well I'm glad you aren't interested as my hands do ache so from working the tiller all day. I'm sure he has balm he could rub on." Salima was picking absent-mindedly at the laces running down the front of her blouse. "Do you think he'd be so kind as to help with my bodice?"

"Silima!" Galadwen squealed in shock, and spinning on her friend, punched her solidly in the shoulder. The effect however, wasn't what Galadwen desired, with the other handmaiden collapsing into gales of laughter and the men above on the river bank turning curious eyes their way.

"How could she?" Galadwen thought. "We've both just met this man. No, this boy. No, this human boy." Silima's behavior was most unladylike. Then a wicked thought darted through Galadwen's mind. "And besides, there's a lot more to interest Earendil inside my bodice than in Silima's." Wicked perhaps, but she smiled anyway.

Looking back up the bank she saw lady Arawel had joined the group bringing Earendil's discussion with the other man to an abrupt end. Her mistress spoke for several moments to the man in the ring mail, and then turned her attention to the young giant. After a few words, she excused herself and indicated that Earendil should walk with her. Carrying his staff in the crook of his right arm, he swung his pack effortlessly over his far shoulder and set off along the bank walking alongside the elf at a leisurely pace. Lady Arawel was barely visible behind the boy's large frame, but Galadwen could see that he was listening intently to whatever she was saying.

Galadwen desperately wanted to know what was being said, but just as she made up her mind to walk over and see if she could involve herself in the conversation, Earendil stopped and turned to face her mistress directly. He was looking intently down at the diplomat, and Galadwen could imagine the deep, soft voice he used when he was instructing someone. Perhaps her mistress nodded very slightly, perhaps not, but Earendil seemed to have made his point and their conversation paused.

Placing his pack on the ground, he pulled something from a side pouch and handed it to Arawel. Galadwen couldn't see it clearly, but it was about a foot long and narrow. Maybe a tube of some sort. Arawel took it and seemed to be listening as the giant spoke for a few seconds. Then with a formal salute and a bow, he pulled his pack onto his shoulder, looked briefly straight at Galadwen, then turned and walked out of sight beyond the river bank.

Arawel watched him go for some seconds, then turning about, locked eyes with Galadwen. She was thirty paces away, but the handmaiden could feel the intensity of her mistress's gaze even from that distance. Silima too saw the look Arawel was giving her friend, and sensing Galadwen's worry, reassuringly reached over and held her friend's shoulder.

"She's just worried about her dress," Silima assured, although Galadwen didn't hear any confidence in her voice.

After a few seconds a lake man approached. Breaking her gaze, Arawel turned and walked away with the soldier, pointing and apparently issuing orders. Galadwen had no idea what had just transpired, but somehow felt it had been important.

All she really knew was where she had gotten this lovely blue dress.


	4. Advice Given

Leindir returned Aphador's salute and took the roll of parchment he presented. Turning back towards the river, he continued to watch his wife.

She was speaking to Belem, the commander of the relief force. Leindir knew his wife well enough to hear what she was saying in his mind.

"Your men performed well…. Good soldiers… We were fortunate to have you come to our aid…". Small talk, even if it was true, but it wasn't Belem his wife wanted to talk to.

He watched carefully for a reaction from the man. Usually not an easy task at 75 paces, but even at that distance it was clear. Belem was a professional soldier, and he gave a short response, one or two words, along with a quick bow of his head to show respect. Not a man to be overwhelmed by a diplomatic charm.

"Did you find out what I needed?" Leindir directed this question to his aide without removing his eyes from his wife.

"Yes Commander. I noted what I have learned in the report."

No doubt he had. Aphador had been with him since…. By the light, had it been that long? They had stood together at the Black Gate and survived the siege of Barad Dur. Three-thousand years then.

"Thank you old friend. I will read it as soon as I have the time." Aphador saluted and left.

Arawel was now walking down the river bank with the large, silver haired lad. Leindir had counseled against what his wife had planned, not that he didn't understand the need for it. Galadwen wasn't their child, but she had been placed in their care by her father and he expected that this trust would be repaid by keeping a good eye on her. If she returned to Lorien smitten with some human boy, that would not reflect well on himself or his wife.

Arawel was walking with the giant now. "This can go nowhere", she was probably saying. "She is immortal and you will leave her lonely and broken hearted for an eternity," or words to that effect.

He watched the youngster absorb this with quiet, attentive patience. No juvenile displays of angst then. Not that Leindir expected that from Earendil. Even the name gave him away. The blood of Numenor ran in that lad, and fairly pure blood, if he had to guess. Only the Valar knew how he came to be 17 hands tall, however.

The pair stopped walking, and the giant turned to face his wife. "She's not going to like this response", Leindir thought. He tried to imagine what the lad was saying.

"Go to Morgoth?" Leindir laughed to himself at this. That wasn't this lad's style, although he'd buy the first man to say that to his wife a barrel of the finest dwarven ale just for having the nerve. Well, he'd buy it when Arawel wasn't there, of course.

The giant was leaning slightly forward now. Whatever he was saying, he wanted his words to be understood clearly. Leindir ran other possibilities through his head. He settled on, "It's none of your damn business," though probably phrased more gracefully.

Whatever he said, Arawel seemed willing to accept it, or at least not pursue it further at this time. The boy placed his pack on the ground, and drawing something from it, handed it to his wife. She took it, but he didn't let go, instead speaking earnestly for several seconds. It was Arawel's turn to listen now, and she appeared to be paying close attention.

Finally he released whatever he was holding and took a step backwards rendering a crisp, military salute. Leindir stared closely. He had been a soldier for three millennia, and a salute could mean so much. Straining his eyes, he tried to catch the details. Not an open hand, a fist over the heart. Not a good start. An open hand showed that you didn't look on the other as an opponent, showed you held no weapon. He dipped his head noticeably as he saluted, so respect was given. That was good, but did he close his eyes as he did it? Leindir wasn't certain, but he didn't think so. This all told a story. We are not friends, but I respect you. I don't however, trust you enough to close my eyes around you. Leindir had told his wife that lad wouldn't be cowed, but he had learned a lot through 33 centuries of marriage. There would be no, "I told you so".

His wife was talking to a soldier now, probably pointing out where she wanted her tent pitched. The lad was heading off towards Long Lake carrying his pack and staff. Leindir knew his wife would wait for the pavilion they shared to be erected, offering her the privacy to talk uninterrupted with her husband, so he turned and stepped back inside his command tent.

Pouring some water into a pewter mug, he quenched his thirst and unrolled the report Aphador had prepared. Much of the information were wild rumors of little use. Earendil's mother was almost certainly not the Witch King, didn't consort with demons in the forest on the summer solstice, or poison her ale to make dwarves fall in love with her. But not all of the information was this trite. He read it over and prepared to answer his wife's questions.

The sun was dropping towards the distant mountains when his summons came. Aphador announced himself before entering and informed his Commander that lady Arawel was asking to meet with him. It seemed a formal way to go visit one's wife, but formalities were important when the military and political had to coexist, even if the military had been married to the political since the middle of the second age. Looking over the report one last time, he tucked it into his belt and walked the 100 paces to the large tent he and his wife shared at night. Belem was stepping out through the door as Leindir arrived and saluted as he approached the taller elf. A closed hand, Leindir noted, returning the salute with a dip of his head and an open palm across his heart.

"He may not trust me yet", Leindir thought, "but he did save my life, and possibly the lives of everyone in my command. I owe him a sign of thanks for that."

"I trust you have received supplies for your men and horses, Commander?" Belem was not tall and had begun to develop a bit of a paunch. He wasn't the image one had of a life long, hardened soldier, but Leindir had watched him closely over the past two days. He carried himself with authority and was respected by his men.

Leindir nodded. "Yes Captain. I thank you for what you have provided. I know you have little to spare as this mission came upon you suddenly."

The man shook his head. "I assure you, it is not an issue. Your wounded are well?"

"In that regard I will be forever in your debt. Many of my soldiers survived their wounds because of your aid. The giant lad under your command is a gifted healer and I could not ask for better care. Where did you come across such skill in these parts?" It was a sincere enough statement of thanks, but if Leindir garnered another small piece of information about the giant, all the better.

Perhaps Belem smiled a little as he answered. "He has been the center of quite a bit of interest over the past two days."

The Captain knew of his interest in the boy. An attentive man.

"He is not under my command, in the truest sense," the soldier replied. "I would have him in the royal guard in an instant, had he come of age yet."

This surprised Leindir. "How old is the boy?"

"Fifteen, Commander. His birthday is still some months off, in mid summer, at which time I will press to have him inducted into the guard." The man sighed deeply. "I already know he will turn me down."

Leindir was stunned. He knew the lad was young, but it would seem that he was not yet even fully grown. That was a bit frightening.

"As to where he gained his skills," the Captain continued, "That would be from his mother."

"His mother is a healer?"

Belem laughed. "Not that you don't already know this from the good Aphador, but she owns perhaps the most popular tavern in Dale. Her ale will heal you of a great many things, but a wound from a goblin's sword is not one of them."

The Captain must have seen a reaction from the elf at the mention of Aphador, and he lifted both hands in a gesture of apology. "Do not concern yourself that I consider your interest in the boy intrusive. I have been having words with the lad myself, and I assume your wife and I did so for the same reason."

Leindir reminded himself not to underestimate this man. This one knew everything that happened within his command.

"He has had eyes for that golden haired lass in your party since he cared for her after the battle. Galadwen is her name I believe. An aide to your wife?"

Leindir had not been the only one snooping, it seemed.

Belem again read the Commander's face. "I asked Bellamdir about her when I noted how smitten young Earendil seemed. If he spoke out of turn, don't be too harsh on your scout. If anyone should be thanked for saving your command, it is he."

Leindir made note of that. "I will ensure he is recognized, Captain. Thank you."

"At any rate, the boy will not be bothering you for a week at least. I sent him north to Dale to inform the king concerning the success of the mission."

This was not the first time royalty had been mentioned in the conversation and Leindir was confused. "I'm sorry for my ignorance, Captain Belem, but I thought Laketown had an elected master?"

Belem nodded. "That is does, Commander. But the troops you see are not of Esgaroth. Other than a dozen boatsmen the master generously loaned the expedition, we are the entirety of King Bard of Dale's personal guard. And one young barkeep," he added with a smile.

Leindir could tell by the tone in Belem's voice that he held some animosity towards the Master of Esgaroth. This would complicate his wife's diplomatic mission, he was sure. "Bard has declared himself king?"

The Captain nodded. "Aye, as is his right as the descendant of King Girion of Dale."

"His being of the line of Girion certainly entitles him to Lordship," Leindir agreed, before adding, "although slaying Smaug would seem claim enough."

Belem laughed loudly at this. "It does at that good elf. It does at that."

The Captain saluted once more, this time, Leindir noted, with an open palm and closed eyes. It was good that trust was being earned. "Your wife is expecting you, and has asked me to locate her handmaiden. I hope we will get to drink together some time commander. I believe it would be good for the both of us to get to understand each other."

Leindir returned the salute in the same form. "I would be honored to join you captain."

With that, the captain left, walking at a brisk pace towards the lake. Leindir turned back to the tent flap, announcing himself by clearing his throat.

"Come."

His wife had her back to him as he entered, a small glass in her hand of what he assumed was wine. The cask it was drawn from was several paces beyond her on a low table. It was of a truly exquisite vintage, and was meant to be for toasting their hosts once they had reached Esgaroth. That she had tapped it was not a good sign.

Arawel took a sip from her glass. "Bard has declared as King of Dale, did you know that?"

"I just found out," Leindir replied.

Arawel continued. "Bellamdir reported that upon his arrival Bard and the Master of Esgaroth were in discussions as to how trade from the Lonely Mountain would be divided. Bellamdir feels there is considerable strain between the two men."

"I got the same feeling speaking with captain Belem," Leindir confirmed.

"What did the captain say?"

Leindir walked past his wife and poured himself a modest glass of wine. "It was not what he said, but in his tone. Did you know that the master sent no troops to our aid? Only the boatsmen are of Esgaroth." Turning to face his wife, he sipped the wine. It was a good vintage.

Arawel nodded. "The master first asked what the Lady of the Golden Wood would grant him, should he choose to help her emissary. As I had told Bellamdir to grant whatever demands were made in order to secure aid, he was about to submit to any request, when Bard interjected." Arawel drained her glass and walked to the table. Refilling her cup, she continued the story. " 'I am far from my court, and have only my personal guard', said the King of Dale, 'but as that is all I have, I offer it freely. Such requests as I have will be modest, and should the Lady of the Woods deem them unreasonable, I shall retract them.' "

Leindir shrugged. "That seems very commendable of King Bard."

Arawel smiled. "My beloved. You are dearest to me, but sometimes I think you can only see the trees immediately in front of you."

Leindir remained silent. 3300 years of marriage a taught him when to remain silent.

Arawel explained. "Since Bard re-founded his kingdom two years ago, I am told nearly a third of Laketown has departed for Dale, or for farmland in it's sway. The Master is rapidly losing his tax base. Furthermore, Bard is great friends with Dain Ironfoot and is likely to become the controlling force where trade with Erebor is concerned. So the Master sees the loss of trade revenue as well." Arawel shook her head.

"Perhaps Bard is as noble as he seems," she continued, "but he is in a struggle for control of the dwarven trade routes and in reality, for all the men living within what used to be the Kingdom of Dale." Arawel looked pointedly at her husband. "That, my sweet, includes Esgaroth. The goodwill of the Lady Galadriel would be a tremendous boon for him. He shames the master while the lord of Laketown sits in his own council chamber, generously offering his personal guard to elves he has never met. News of this will slip out into the city, and the tale of his nobility and generosity will further erode the support of the master, elected or not."

Leindir was beginning to see why his wife had opened the good wine, and his second glass was more generous than his first.

Thinking through it out loud, Leindir said, "So Bard is either so noble and kind that he will win over the people of Laketown and force a confrontation between himself and the ruling council of Esgaroth, or he is so politically manipulative that the result will be the same." Leindir took a deep draw from his cup. "And if the Galadhrim wish to deal with Dale, Esgaroth or Erebor, we will have to pick a side."

His wife nodded. "That is a part of it. Dain will have to pick a side as well, as will Tharanduil and our cousins in the Woodland Realm."

With this, Arawel waved her hand towards a scroll case lying near the cask. "By the way, the giant was in possession of the replies from both the master and King Bard." Another sip of wine. "Bard outmaneuvered the Master in this as well. Calling for quill and ink, he wrote his response directly there in the council room, and without revealing what he wrote placed it in that case. Then he passed the quill to the master. 'Come, we will seal them and send them together', said the king, without revealing what he wrote."

Leindir chuckled softly. "So the master was forced to respond without knowing whether his political adversary was being magnanimous or demanding, but ensuring that they would be read together and a direct comparison made."

Arawel nodded. "Was he demanding too much, or letting an opportunity slip through his fingers? The master didn't know, but he knew enough to ask Bellamdir whether his demands would be taken seriously."

The Commander groaned, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Let me guess. Fine Bellamdir didn't answer diplomatically."

"If by diplomatically you mean he didn't lie, then you are correct. He answered as I had told him, that if aid were sent, we would honor any demand, were in our power to do so."

Leindir signed. "What were the demands?"

"See for yourself," she said, nodding to the table once again.

Leindir saw the scroll case lying open near the cask, two seals broken, the ribbon that had held it shut having been torn through them. Both in red wax, the first seal bore a boat with many oars, the second was a tower with a single arrow centered upon it.

The contents of the case lay alongside, and Leindir picked them up. The first was written in a flowing script, the letters easily discernible, but not perfectly formed. It was from Bard, King of Dale, and bore his signature at the bottom. He asked for 500 elven longbows, of fine quality, and the training needed to use them so that he might more effectively defend his people. He also asked for a permanent ambassador from Lothlorien, so that the two realms could remain in contact and become friends. Beyond that he asked only that other exchanges of culture and trade be negotiated with the memory of the aid he had freely given.

Leindir was impressed. No real demands, and the requests he made were reasonable and showed a King looking for security and friendship.

Picking up the second piece of parchment, he read again. This script was perfect in form and size. "A scribe wrote this on behalf of the Master," thought Leindir. Reading further, the Commander shook his head.

"As you can see, the Master took Bellamdir at his word," Arawel said dryly, seeing her husband's reaction.

That seemed certainly to be the case. In exchange for sending troops to relieve the besieged force: Exclusive rights to transport trade goods between Lothlorien and Gondor, acknowledgement of Esgaroth's right to direct control over all trade from Long Lake down the River Running, support for the position that the dominion of Dale should be limited to the northern shore of Long Lake and two dozen Mallorn saplings with guidance as to their care and nurturing.

"The Master is mad if he thinks our Lady would allow Mallorn trees to be taken from Lorien," Leindir stated flatly. "And it looks like the Galadhrim will be dragged into this trade war whether we like it or not."

Arawel nodded her agreement over the lip of her glass. "And you wondered why I broke open the cask of fine wine?"

Leindir laughed. "You know me so well, beloved. I am sure you will find a way to turn this in our favor. Perhaps things went better with the lad?"

Arawel snorted. "Bah! I saw you watching, and you can guess how that went."

Leindir wasn't about to guess any such thing, so his wife continued. "I pointed out that he would be old and dead before she had begun to even begin her life, that this would leave her heartbroken and despondent. I further pointed out that his involvement with her would complicate the relationship between Lothlorien and the men of the lake." Another deep sip from her cup. "Perhaps you could remind me whether you counseled me to follow that line of reasoning?"

Leindir said nothing.

"Well I do remember," she snapped, frustrated at not being able to goad her husband into the fight.

Another sip, and she continued the tale. "'I will take your words under advisement, My Lady', he said, and then, leaning over me like I was a schoolgirl receiving instruction, he had the gall to tell me that I didn't have the measure of that girl's strength, that I should trust her instincts and allow her to grow as a woman." Arawel downed the remainder of her glass, and went back to the cask.

Leindir nodded, silently giving himself credit for getting it right. The lad had told his wife to mind her own damn business, and had done so with diplomacy. "What did he have to say about the demand letters he handed you?"

"I knew you had your eye on me, hushband"

Leindir looked his wife over carefully. How many glasses was that?

"I have to give the lad shum credit," she continued. "He told me he was a loyal servant of King Bard of Dale, and that he would understand if I distrusted his opinion conshering the master of Laketown."

Arawel was rapidly draining her glass yet again, and had begun to eye the cask once more. "Six glasses, perhaps more", thought Leindir.

"On his word as a man of Dale, he said, we should not trust anything the Mashter said. His mind was always on coin, and the power that came with coin." Arawel peered into the empty glass and made let out a disappointed sigh. "Could you pour me another glash, beloved? I am so tired I am feeling a bit unshteady."

Leindir stepped forward and took the wine glass from his wife. "Of course my dear," he lied, taking her gently by the arm. "I can see you can barely stand in your weariness." Leading her around the folding screen used to add some privacy to the sleeping area, he guided her gently to the bed. "Perhaps you should sit, dearest. I wouldn't want you to fall from exhaustion."

Sitting unsteadily on the edge of her bed, Arawel began to remove her boots as Leindir began clearing up the rest of the tent.

"May we enter?" It was a male voice, and sounded like captain Belem. "I have Galadwen with me as the lady Arawel requested."

Leindir winced. This was most certainly not the right time.

"My handmaiden is with you?" Arawel called from the back of the tent.

"Yes my lady".

"Well show the little temptress in."

Leindir shuddered. This was not going to turn out well at all.


	5. Mere's End

The roar of the water was deafening and it's cool spray was exactly the sort of experience Galadwen had left Lorien to find. The falls of Lindor they were called on the map, but she had been told that the men in this area called them Mere's End. In either case, they were quite magnificent. Perhaps 300 paces across, they poured in an unbroken sheet over a drop of at least 10 fathoms. Striking rocks at the base, the spray billowed upwards in a roiling cloud, soaking the rocky, moss covered shore in a perpetual rain.

Galadwen wanted to walk down and stand in the fog, feel it's dampness on her face, but the shore was steep, muddy and looked treacherous. Furthermore, she still wore the elegant clothes and slippers loaned to her by lady Arawel, and she didn't want to damage them. They were a matching set, now that she had time to admire them. Blue silk with intricate silver embroidery accentuated by small, clear gems that sparkled in the light. The young elf had never owned clothing as lovely as this, and she reminded herself that she must thank lady Arawel for entrusting her with them.

Galadwen had tried to assist with the setting up of the camp, but Silima would have none of it. "I won't have you tearing out those stitches your giant so lovingly gave you," she teased. "Find yourself a tree and rest in the shade."

Galadwen had to agree that she wasn't ready for heavy work. She had spent the hours since they came ashore watching the human soldiers handle almost all of the chores she was usually responsible for, and Silima had handled the rest. She had an opportunity to speak with Bellamdir, still sporting the feathered hat from the battle, about these human troops and was surprised to learn that other than a handful of men sent to manage the boats their relief force consisted entirely of troops sent by the King of Dale.

Still, it was three hours til dusk and she wouldn't spend that time lounging under a tree. A gentle walk was within her ability, so she found the small satchel in which she stored her parchment, charcoal and other art supplies, and made for the sound of the falls.

She was glad she had, and finding a comfortable rock, she sat and spent almost an hour drawing several views of the beautiful scene before her. After looking over the charcoal sketches, she packed away her things and noting there was still time before nightfall, decided to climb the rise and see what lay north of the falls. She had been told that a small town lay along the shore of Long Lake less than a thousand paces from the falls, and as she had never seen a human settlement before, it seemed well worth the short walk.

Moving away from the bank of the Celduin, she turned upstream and with a few minutes of steady climbing, crested the rise above the falls. She was stunned. She had never thought to see this much water in her entire life. Her studies had described to her the ocean, water that was almost endless, but while Long Lake wasn't endless, it was still breathtaking. The opposite shores of the lake were separated by at least three leagues. Far up the west coast, at the very edge of her sight, the spires of a city rose from the water, while the northern shore was too distant to see.

And there on the horizon, was Erebor it's pointed peak quickly drawing her eye! She imagined what a dwarven kingdom would be like. Perhaps a bed of golden coins to rest on, and dinner plates carved from great diamonds. Galadwen laughed at herself. "I am behaving like a child," she thought. Anyway, with luck she would find out for herself soon enough.

Looking about her she noticed for the first time a large mill standing on the shore of the river just 100 paces distant. It had a twin on the western bank, or it would have been a twin had it not been burnt down. A recent fire too, she assumed, as the charred timbers were not disturbed by grass or brush. The land on the west side of the river seemed open and fertile, an irrigated strip of green hugging the lake's southern shore, but like the mill, the few buildings on that side of the river were destroyed, piles of blackened wood falling inwards on themselves. The land was clearly intended for planting, but although Spring was well underway, the soil was un-tilled. Further upstream Galadwen saw the remains of a long, low bridge. The piers were intact jutting above the current, and they seemed solid, but the deck was gone, it's planks torn up and missing, making it useless.

On the east side of the Celduin lay the small hamlet she was looking for. The town's name wasn't particularly original, in fact the humans seemed to have a singular lack of talent when it came to naming things. It was called South End, along the shore of Long Lake, next to the River Running, and owing it's allegiance to Laketown.

"No", she thought, smiling slightly. "No originality at all".

She had never seen a town of its sort before. Her life had been spent in the trees of Caras Galadhon. Set high above the ground, its ladders, ramps and sweeping arches connected the tops of the mighty Mallorn trees which had been planted and tended by the elves there for more than 4000 years. Each elf had work as befitted their skills of desires, but they also had much leisure time. This time they used to play instruments, sing or write poetry, and those delicate sounds were a constant throughout every day. Caras Galadhon was as much a work of art, a natural extension of the forest, as it was a place to live.

This was clearly a town of fishermen and farmers. Their lives were simple, practical, and centered around surviving the next season, not with delicate rhymes or the trills of a flute. Small square buildings with basic framing and thatched roofs lay haphazardly along rutted dirt paths. Their walls appeared to be woven reeds taken from the nearby marshes and then dried, before being knitted into a wall, covered with clay and painted white. Always white.

But here on the east bank also, things were not as the should be. Of the thirty or so buildings she could see, many had doors hanging open, shutters swinging idly. The larger buildings, similarly built but for storage she assumed, likewise seemed dilapidated. Some homes were clearly occupied. Small tendrils of smoke wafted from clay chimneys, clothes on lines waved in a southerly breeze, and she could see people moving slowly between the buildings. But the bustle of work, of life, simply wasn't there.

At the far side of the village, hard against the lake shore, she noted a pair of long docks stretching into the cold, blue water. Next to those a small group of people gathered. As this looked like the only real activity anywhere in the town, she moved in that direction. She passed several women, each wearing worn, threadbare dresses to their ankles and plain, flowing blouses. Upon seeing the elf their eyes widened, and they hurried off avoiding Galadwen's gaze. She felt their fear, but didn't understand it. Certainly she couldn't be seen as dangerous?

Sidestepping puddles and mud holes, Galadwen passed through the run down buildings, arriving in a few minutes at a small patch of open dirt which formed a half circle at the foot of the two docks. A dozen or so small boats, each fitted with a pair of long oars and a square sail on a single mast, were tied up to the piers. Here a group of twenty or so, some men, but mostly women, were unloading the catch for the day. Wooden crates with large silver fish were stacked on the jetty next to each boat and apparently a count of the day's take was underway.

She was only twenty paces from the nearest of them when she was noticed. A small child turned, and seeing Galadwen sent up a sharp cry, backing away several paces. Looking towards the sound, others began to shout, and the half dozen men present grabbed boat hooks, fish clubs, or other implements and moved to confront the elf maid.

"Oi! You stop right there lass." The warning came from a broad shouldered man with a full beard standing in the middle. "You don't belong here."

Galadwen held out her hands, palms up. "I am sorry, good sir. I mean no harm."

A sturdy looking woman with a weather worn face and sad eyes laid her hand on the bearded man's shoulder. "Peace Steinarr. Have you seen many goblins in a gown like that?"

Steinarr looked the elf up and down, and his club dropped a bit.

"We were told there were strangers camped below the falls," the woman added. "I imagine she has just come to visit." Then looking at Galadwen more closely, her eyes widened. "I don't mean to be rude, milady, but you're one of the woodland folk, are you not?"

Galadwen dipped in a short courtesy. She wasn't sure if this was appropriate, but it couldn't hurt to be polite. "I am, good lady. And again, I am sorry if I have caused any of you distress."

A murmur ran through the crowd, and the weapons were lowered. The woman came forward, looking the stranger up and down as she did. Galadwen could see light blue eyes set deeply in what had been a lovely face in her youth, but now that she was near the elf thought she could see suffering. Deep wrinkles creased her forehead, and the eyes were sunken, surrounded by dark circles.

"Thank Iluvatar you have come." She was just a few paces from Galadwen now, her eyes brimming with tears, and reaching forward she fell to her knees in the soaked earth. Grabbing the elf's hands she kissed them several times.

This was quite a bit more than Galadwen had expected, but perhaps it was a local custom about which she was unaware. Unsure of what to say, she decided that saying nothing was the wisest course.

"We have prayed every night, milady," the woman continued from her knees. "When the Master refused to send soldiers, we prayed that aid would come from an unseen place." The poor woman was almost wailing now, tears tracing grimy lines down her cheeks.

Looking quickly about, Galadwen saw that there was quite a crowd surrounding her now. Whatever was happening, it might be getting a bit out of control.

The woman looked up at Galadwen, her face was unwashed, and her eyes red with sorrow. "I am Hilda, milady, uneducated and ignorant," The words came out irregularly, separated by muffled sobs. "By your clothes and bearing, you must be a queen or powerful lady, but we thought the Woodland Realm was ruled by a king?"

Galadwen was stunned. "My dear woman," she reached down and helped the distraught villager to her feet, "Thranduil is King of the Woodland Realm. I am Galadwen, of Lothlorien, and no queen."

Despair burst into the poor woman's eyes, and when she spoke, it was little more than a strangled whisper. "We prayed that someone would come and save us from the marauders, and when I saw you, I thought…." Her head dropping despondently to her chest, the distraught woman turned away.

"Marauders?" Galadwen stepped quickly forward, and taking the villager by her shoulders, turned her about. "What has befallen your people?"

With this the woman burst into wails once again and threw herself into the young elf's arms. "They have killed so many of us, milady. Both my boys were slain the first day in the western fields."

Her grief was flooding into Galadwen and tears began to well in the maiden's eyes too.

"The men that weren't fishing tried to fight them, but they were overcome and so many fell. Those few that survived destroyed the bridge and kept them on the western bank, but they burned the grain storage and destroyed the western mill. We have been kept from our fields for nigh on a month, and even if we were to regain them, we have nothing to sew."

Galadwen now understood why so many homes seemed abandoned. Holding the sobbing woman, she looked about at the crowd that surrounded her. There were perhaps four score present, all of whom looked desperate and haunted. Of these, there were numerous women and children, but only a handful of men, most of whom she had seen at the docks.

"Who are these marauders, dear woman? Can't the master send troops to protect you?"

The lady shook her head mournfully. "No milady. We sent for aid the day after the raid, but were told that soldiers cost money, and that the meager taxes we paid to the coffers of Laketown were insufficient to warrant their expense. As for who they are, they are orcs, milady. Vicious, murdering brutes who raid from Mirkwood to the southwest. Remnants from the Battle of Five Armies, we are told."

A small flicker of hope rose in Galadwen's heart. "Orcs you say? Did they bear shields emblazoned with a red eye, a tear of blood dripping from it's corner?"

The woman's sobbing slowed. "Yes milady. That they did.".

Galadwen stepped back a pace and looked into the despondent woman's face. "I am sorry for the loss you suffered" she said, looking into red, tear stained eyes, "but I can tell you that you will not be further terrorized by those orcs."

A gasp escaped the woman's lips. "You are certain of this, milady? Don't think I distrust you," she added, grasping Galadwen's hand, "but we have no means of protecting ourselves, and must be sure"

Galadwen drew herself up and spoke loudly to the crowd in what she hoped was an authoritative voice. "My good people. This fine woman here has told me of the pains inflicted upon you by a band of murderous orcs. I am Galadwen of Lothlorien, and I grieve with you. I can do nothing about those you have lost, but I can assure you that the creatures who have plagued you will cause you no further harm. I was present three days past when these murderers were slain, perhaps to the last of them, by elves from the land of Lorien, and by soldiers sent by King Bard himself."

There was a moment of silence, and then the crowd erupted. Tears, wails, cries of joy and laughter. Everyone hugging each other, and to Galadwen's shock, hugging her. Men shaking her hands, women kissing her on the cheek. She was pushed and grabbed and held, and a little terrified.

After a few minutes, a particularly firm hand took her arm, dragging her through the throng. She tried to draw herself free, but the man had a very firm grip, and kept pulling. In a moment she was free of the mob. Her assailant was only slightly taller than her, with dark hair and ring mail. She had seen him before talking to Earendil on the river bank some hours before. His grip lessened some, but he continued moving quickly away from the throng, towing her between the houses.

After a few more paces, he let go of Galadwen's arm. "I apologize, but you would have been with them well into the night had I not gotten you away." He continued walking purposefully in the direction of the falls, and his bearing suggested he expected Galadwen to follow. "I am Belem, captain of the guard of King Bard. That was quite a pronouncement you made back there."

Galadwen wasn't sure if it was a compliment or sarcasm. "I did not think I needed rescuing, captain."

Belem continued his quick pace away from town, shrugging his shoulders. "Perhaps not, although you did look a bit overwhelmed there."

Galadwen had to admit she had been overwhelmed, at any rate she had to admit it to herself, but other thoughts came to her mind. "Captain. Those villagers are vassals to the Master of Laketown, are they not?"

The Captain nodded silently and kept walking.

"I was told they were beset by the same war band that we destroyed some days past, but that the master refused to send them soldiers or aid." Galadwen didn't want to think this was possible, that villagers would be abandoned by their lord when set upon by murderers.

Belem stopped, and turning to the young elf, sighed deeply. "Galadwen, I am a soldier and not one to get involved in the politics of the powerful…" The captian paused, as if he were considering about whether to continue.

"But…?" Galadwen fixed him with an expectant look.

Belem sighed deeply again, and continued. "But… the council of Laketown, and most certainly it's master, are ruled by the purse. Troops cost money to train, and more money to replace. It is my opinion," and at this he paused and looked firmly back at the elf, "and an opinion I would appreciate you not repeat to anyone else."

Galadwen nodded sincerely and he continued.

"It is my opinion that the council of Laketown did not see profit in risking troops for a ramshackle cluster of buildings on the south shore."

Galadwen shook her head. "No," she thought. "The council simply must not have been aware of the true situation here".

Pulling open her satchel, Galadwen sat down cross legged in the grass. "I am sorry Captain," she replied in response to a stammered protest. "I promise you this will not take long."

In fact, it took somewhat more than an hour, and when she was finally done the sun was rapidly sinking from view. By then Galadwen had sketched the houses, abandoned and in disrepair, the ruins on the western shore, including the destroyed mill, and also the bridge, torn apart in desperation by the same villagers who had made it. Putting away her kit, she found the Captain had been quietly waiting for her the whole time.

She smiled at him as she rose from the grass. "Thank you good sir. I know you had pictured us back in camp by now.

Belem nodded. "Shall we be on our way?"

The pair began moving down the slope skirting Mere's End.

"You are a good woman, Galadwen." The captain had to yell as they walked, the roar of the nearby falls being tremendous. "I know what you believe, that those pictures will sway hearts in Laketown." The captain was about to say something else, but instead said, "I pray that you are right."

Galadwen was praying for the same thing as the captain continued.

"In addition, I must thank you. I overheard what you said to the villagers. Many folk would not have given credit to my soldiers, but you made sure that our role, and that of the King, was prominently mentioned." With this he doffed the flat, feathered cap he wore, swinging it downwards in a fluid bow.

Galadwen smiled. "That's where Bellamdir got his hat," she thought.

"I can see why young Earendil is so smitten with you."

Her smile faded away instantly. "Excuse me captain?"

"I am sorry to become involved in this," and to Galadwen, the captain's face looked as if he were indeed sorry. "This lad is in my charge and, as noble a woman as you appear, any relationship between two of you is doomed to bring him nothing but pain."

Galadwen remained stone faced, and didn't acknowledge the Captain with as much as a glance.

"Earendil is as honorable a lad I have ever met," Belem continued, his voice softening as the roar of the falls fell away behind them, "and I must tell you, every lass from scullery maids to the noble ladies of court would bed him if they could." Belem was watching closely for a reaction, and Galadwen tried hard not to flush. "And yet, he has never so much as kissed a girl, to the best of my knowledge."

At this, Belem smiled. "'It is not gallant to lead a woman down a path that leads nowhere', he told me some time ago. I am faithful to my wife my lady, she has bore me three strong children and I owe her at least that, but I could not have honestly said the same thing when I was that boy's age." Looking directly at Galadwen he added, "incidentally, you do know he's 15, don't you?"

Galadwen failed completely to maintain her facade this time, looking with shocked eyes at the soldier.

"Hmmmm. You didn't know, it would seem. Well, it's true," Belem assured. "However, beyond just his age, there is the minor issue of your immortality."

"That is quite enough Captain," Galadwen snapped. "My decisions on whom I consort with are my own, but I can assure you, whatever the lad's feelings toward me, I am not smitten with anyone under your command." Walking ahead of Belem, she continued towards the camp.

The soldier jogged briefly to catch up, then walked again at her side. "I am sorry this conversation came up and am glad to hear that young Earendil will not have to struggle with this situation. I sent him north to Dale earlier in the afternoon, so you will not have the discomfort of seeing him again any time soon."

Galadwen wasn't the least bit interested in where Earendil was. Really she wasn't.

"Incidentally," the Captain added. "You may not have heard the last of this subject. I believe the lady Arawel has opinions on this she would like heard as well."

Galadwen grimaced, but continued walking in silence.

This continued for some time, and presently the camp came into view. She noted the men standing near the boats talking and lounging, and then saw the men in feathered caps still bustling about the camp.

"So the Council only sent a dozen men to aid us against the orcs?" She asked Belem.

Belem snorted derisively at this. "They sent a dozen men, but they refused to do anything other than manage the boats." The captain's tone showed clearly how little he thought of them. "They remained with their craft as we attacked the hill. Not that I would have trusted them in a fight," he added.

Galadwen shook her head in dismay, and together they passed between the first of the tents. The sun had fallen below the horizon and it was darkening rapidly as they arrived at the tent of lady Arawel. Moving ahead, Belem approached the tent.

"May we enter?" There was a moment of silence, so the Captain added, "I have Galadwen with me as the lady Arawel requested."

Galadwen heard a response that might have been her mistress.

Did she say temptress? Galadwen was sure she had misheard, but as she passed through the tent flap, she noted that the captain had a concerned look in his eyes.


	6. The Road Less Traveled

The pack slapped rhythmically against his back as he moved northwards and Earendil used the sound to help keep his pace. 150 paces per minute, of moderate stride, were equal to two leagues every hour. At that pace he could run for as long as he could remain awake, covering as much ground as a rider could if he was not trying to wear out his mount. Of course, he'd be more tired then the rider when he got to his destination, and he ate more than a horse.

Earendil smiled. He did eat a lot, but his mother said he was a growing boy, and that was a difficult point to argue as he could pass through very few doors unbent, and no longer fit in his bed. He had left camp with two hours until nightfall, choosing to travel along the less traveled east coast of Long Lake. It was a slightly shorter to Dale in that direction, but with a rutted path that dropped into washes and gullies, it would take him an hour longer to complete the trip. The road followed the shore and connected three small fishing hamlets spaced out along the coast, but the truth was there was little use for a road in the east as the lake provided passage between all the various townships and the city of Laketown.

By the time night fell he was five leagues from South End, having just passed through Hookley. The moon had been waning for several days, but still provided light enough to see by. Certainly enough for him, as his vision in the dark seemed better than most. There wasn't much for him to be wary of on this coast. To the West nearer Mirkwood, spiders or wolves would occasionally make their way from the forest looking for easier prey. They hunted the goats and sheep raised by the lake men in that area, but had been know to carry off a youngster if they were available. The swamp along the Forest River was also treacherous in the dark, at least if you wandered off the roads.

But to the east stretched nothing but grass, 50 leagues to the Redwater and then further into Rhun. Wild horses could be found there in great number, and the small, scattered settlements in that region frequently made their coin by capturing and training these animals. There were some wolves, and more fearfully in the north, wargs, but they had plenty of meat and rarely came to the shore of Long Lake to hunt. The lake men here had little food to steal, and were a tough group willing to fight ferociously for what little they did have. Regardless, the wind was blowing from the grasslands out across the cold water of the lake, and so he was downwind and would have warning.

The ground had been rising slowly during the last hour. At this point the shore of the lake was high above it's surface, precipitous drops of many fathoms straight into the water. Looking to his left, Earendil could easily make out the lights of Laketown glinting near the far bank. It was this reason he had chosen the eastern shore. Belem had sent him to Dale to inform the king as to what had transpired with the elves of Lothlorien. On the western road patrols would have stopped him and asked him his business. He would have been allowed to continue of course, but the captain wanted the news to reach Dale before it reached the ears of the Master of Laketown. Even needing to slow his pace over rough terrain, he would be in Dale at dawn. News would not reach Laketown until the evening, at best.

An hour later, as the road began it's decent, Earendil passed through Jaleb's Bay. A face appeared at a window as he moved through, and the sound of merriment spilled through the open door of the only well lit building in the village, but he went unnoticed moving quickly northwards and back into the darkness. Laketown was still there over his shoulder. He had lived there his entire life, until his mother moved them to Dale four years ago. Dale was completely different, a city of stone and masonry. A city where, until recently, dwarves outnumbered men, and where the sound of chisels on rock rang throughout the daylight hours.

But the town glittering on the horizon wasn't his home either. Looking southward down the far shore he saw only darkness, but it was there that he had lived. It was ruined now, the body of Smaug lay in 9 fathoms of cold water, the shattered remains of Earendil's old home strewn about him. The site lay between the new Esgaroth, which had been rebuilt further north, and the mouth of the Forest River, and lay along the shortest trade route between Laketown and the Woodland Realm. Still, no one dared cross those cursed waters, and instead trade hugged the shore, giving what was now mostly a pile of bones and scales a wide berth.

He and his mother had not been there the night Smaug had breathed death on his home. He had watched with the others as Thorin and his band left Esgaroth to great fanfare, heading north to reclaim their rightful inheritance, and in doing so restore Laketown to it's former glory. Of course by glory, what the people of Laketown meant was wealth. Three days later he and his mother had left, traveling west into Mirkwood to visit his father. They visited every year around his naming day in mid summer, spending ten days with him deep inside the forest. This trip was different, leaving with no notice near the end of November. When he asked, his mother told him that the dwarves going to Erebor might bring wealth to their city, but that they could just as well bring ruin. She wouldn't explain this, but every ten year old boy knew the rumor of the dragon under the Lonely Mountain.

Earendil thought about those summer trips too as he ran. They had been what he looked forward to most as a child, and what he still looked forward to. His mother and he would depart Laketown near the end of June, leaving the tavern in capable hands. They brought with them a sturdy horse which his mother cared for all year especially for this trip. It was laden with shelter, provisions, and enough food to last them both three weeks. They moved west along the forest road, passing through the reed swamp and spending their first night at the edge of the great forest. On the second day they traveled along the southern bank of the Forest River, his mother pointing out a wide bridge which crossed the river northward, disappearing through broad doors set into the side of a hill.

"That is the entrance to the Woodland King's Halls," she would say, but no amount of cajoling ever convinced her to go visit the elves, though her son begged. Elves in those days were rare in Laketown. There was much trade between the two cities, but the Woodland Folk preferred not to enter the halls of men and they were a great mystery and source of rumor.

The second night was spent by the shore of a quickly flowing tributary to the Forest River. It's waters were black, and his mother warned him every year that he was not to dip in so much as a finger. Here there was a sturdy bridge that arced high over the stream, and Earendil knew that on the trip home they would stop here again. This stop would see his mother donning long leather gloves and filling about 20 small metal vials with water from the stream. She stoppered these with cork, and then using wax she had brought for this purpose, would seal the vials completely. She used the water as a sleeping drought, frequently added to healing concoctions when rest would help with whatever ill a patient suffered from. She used it very sparingly.

It was always at this point that the elves would begin to follow them. Earendil would see them moving between the trees, often on the far side of the river. They stayed in the shadows, and were seemingly trying to remain out of sight. This they achieved most of the time, but he still caught occasional glimpses. When he mentioned this to his mother, she simply said, "It's rude to tell an elf you see him, particularly in a forest. Keep your eyes on the path." And so he did.

They were traveling along the southern side of the river still, but the path they had been following had turned southward just past the elven halls, and instead they walked along the bank, spending another night on its shore. The elves were still there, even at night. He wouldn't see them in the gloom of the forest, but he would occasionally hear them, although they were very hard to hear. And of course, if the wind were blowing in the right direction, he would smell them. He mentioned this to his mother also, and she smiled, asking him what they smelled like. But he couldn't explain. All he could say is that they smelled "elfy", which made his mother laugh.

On the fourth day of their trip near midday, they would arrive at a broad clearing which lay along the river. His father would always be there waiting, a huge, black haired man with a broad chest and hairy arms, who towered over the young Earendil. He was dark eyed and had a full beard that hung half way to his belt. He spoke very little, and angered easily, but each time he laid eyes on his mother, his grim face would soften and his eyes would light up. After setting up the camp, he would spend the first afternoon asking Earendil about his life, about what he was being taught, his friends and how he spent his time.

With the coming of the first night, his father and mother would leave and go alone into the forest. Earendil was never afraid, after all the elves were still there watching the camp, and when he awoke his parents would both be back. Of course they slept away most of the next day. They would pass another ten days together in the forest, during which time Earendil's naming day would come and go. His father seemed not to approve of gifts, but he would pull the young boy aside and tell him that he was proud of the man he was becoming. It was the only time the large man would speak emotionally, and it seemed to the youngster that he sincerely meant it. Throughout his stay his father would walk with him through the forest showing him plants, roots and flowers that could be eaten. His father avoided eating meat, but recognizing that others were not so inclined, he taught his son to track and to set snares for small game.

His mother too was learned in herb craft, although her knowledge lay in how they could bring relief and heal. Hagsweed, a floating plant found on stagnant water, could be made into a tea and used to fight corruption or poison in the blood. Redmace, a rust colored grain, similar to wheat, and which could be made into flour, could also have its roots boiled and mashed into a paste that healed wounds and prevented rot. His mother had always told her son that he was different. "Aware", was the word she used. She taught him words in an old language that she said came from his distant forbears. They were words of praise, spoken to the creator, Eru Iluvatar. A few had the ability to feel His being, she explained, and when one of those few spoke these words, all the creations of Eru were strengthened by His presence. She would have her son speak these words, exhaling onto the poultices and salves created as she showed her boy various means of alleviating suffering. This, she promised, would make the power of the medicine more potent, but truthfully, until three years ago, he had never felt anything.

It was late in the first evening of their visit, three days before his 12th name day, and as was customary on the first night with his father, his parents were in the forest alone together. Earendil felt his face warm a bit as he ran. Now he was older what his parents were doing, alone together all night, was quite evident. As an young child, however, he was lied to.

"Your father and I want to talk alone, and hear what the other has been up to for the past year," he mother had told him. And so off they went. Earendil was left with the four elven guards, alone in the clearing. After several years he had gotten very good at spotting them, and there always seemed to be four. Using one of his senses or the other, the young boy noted that none of them followed his parents.

He felt a smile cross his lips. "Very decent of them," he thought as he ran.

On this particular evening alone, Earendil would realize what his mother meant by "aware". While jumping between some rocks on the shore of the Forest River, he had slipped, his leg twisting suddenly. There had been a snap, and a terrible pain shot up his right side, sending him tumbling into the water. Fortunately he was in the shallows, and so, wailing hysterically, he pulled himself up onto the grassy bank.

"I'm afraid that your leg is broken". The voice was soft, and calming, and Earendil looked up to see a tall, thin woodland elf standing next to him. He had a thin face and attentive eyes, blue like Earendil's. His hair was down below his shoulders, straight and light, and it was pulled back, tied with a leather thong, exposing his pointed ears. He was dressed in brown britches and a green vest, both well made and intricately stitched.

Still sobbing uncontrollably, Earendil hiked up his trouser leg and looked at his injury. His leg did appear broken a few inches above the ankle. It was not a bad break, if what his mother had taught him was true. Swelling was already becoming noticeable, and a blush of purple had begun to crawl over the inured area, but the skin was unbroken and the leg appeared in line.

"I'm afraid you are too big a lad to carry," said the elf with a smile designed to reassure, "but I can help you walk back to the camp."

Earendil shook his head vigorously. "I don't want to move," he said between sobs. The pain was still excruciating and he couldn't picture himself having to hop the distance back to the tents.

At this the elf sat down cross legged next to the injured boy. "That seems a problem, young master. What will you do?"

Earendil shrugged his shoulders and snuffled loudly, at which the elf reached down to his belt and pulled out a finely embroidered handkerchief. "Here," he said, handing it to the injured boy, who blew heartily. This cleared out his nose and made him feel much better.

Refusing to take back the cloth when Earendil offered to return it, the elf said, "what do you think Tindomial would do in this situation?"

Tindomial was his mother's name, although everyone just called her Tin. "Y-y-you know my m-mother?", he stammered.

The elf shrugged. "I know her name, and I know what she has shown you." Looking down at the injured leg, he asked again, " so what do you think your mother would do?"

Earendil tried to ignore the pain and think this over. After a moment he said, "w-would you please go to the small tent in the clearing. There will be a leather bag with pouches sewn to the outside. Bring that to me, if you could?"

The elf smiled. "I would be glad to do that, good lad," and springing straight to his feet, he left at a swift jog across the tall grass towards the camp. Returning in just a couple of minutes with a brown leather satchel, it was placed next to Earendil and he sat back down again, cocked his head to the left, and watched with a curious expression.

Earendil thought he gave the appearance an inquisitive bird, looking at him that way, but kept this to himself. Instead, he gritted his teeth against the pain and began looking though the pouches. First he would need the bark from an alor tree, that would dull the pain enough to move, and begin the healing. He found a good sized piece wrapped in linen cloth, and breaking in in half, folded the remainder back into its wrapper, replacing it in the bag.

The elf nodded in approval. "It is good that you remain organized during a difficult situation."

Earendil nodded his thanks, but really didn't see how it mattered. Now he had to chew on the bark to extract the sedative, but before he could, the elf reached out and stopped him.

"There is more you have to do, young master," looking at the boy knowingly. "What did your mother teach you?"

The boy sighed. "The words never change anything. I've been trying since I was eight."

The elf shook his head. "Not just the words, you have to find Him before you say them."

He meant the light of Iluvatar. It was the spirit of the Creator, and his mother was sure her son would be able to see it, but it had never happened. Earendil snatched his hand from the elf's grasp. "I have to deal with this leg," he cried. "I will look for God when I can walk."

But the hand was back, restraining him. He tried to pull away again, but this time the grip tightened. "He was strong for such a thin fellow", Earendil thought.

"Eru comes to you when you need him, in times of stress or pain. And also," the elf added after a pause, "you are of the right age to receive the gift. Or so I have been told." The elf leaned forward across his knees and locked the boy in a strong gaze. "Look for Him. Close your eyes and find His light. Ask Eru to help you relieve this pain."

Earendil continued to try and pull away in frustration.

"I will not release you until you do," the elf concluded.

The youngster's shoulders sagged. "Alright. I will try once again." He sighed deeply to let his new mentor know he thought this was useless, and then slowly closed his eyes. His mother had taught him to look for warmth, a light, to ignore anything that tried to make it's way in from outside, and this he did. The pain was still strong, a throbbing darkness in his thoughts making concentration difficult, but he tried to push this from his mind, looking for something else.

He sat quietly for some time, and soon his mind became restless. He was about to give up, when a voice came from outside.

"How is the pain?"

Earendil imagined rolling his eyes in annoyance. "His pain?" he thought, "It's…..not as bad."

That was a surprise. He went looking for it, and pain leapt back into his mind, perhaps worse than before. He reacted instinctively, turning and running from it. At least, that was how he could best describe it. It seemed safer over here, wherever here was inside your own mind, and so he went that way. Did he feel warmer? He thought he might, but it was probably just something imaginary, and it began to fade.

No. It had been real. He stopped walking, if that's what he was really doing.

"It's here", he thought. "I'm going the wrong way." Turning, to his left perhaps, he continued looking. It was getting warmer, now he was sure. It was coming from right over…..

It burst over him, warm and bright, flooding his mind with peace and awareness. There was no form in the light, no great voice of the almighty, no words spoken at all. Just bright, brilliant silence, but the boy knew that he had been acknowledged, recognized. There was safety here, and somehow the light seemed proud of the young boy. Earendil could sense the world outside, his leg was still broken and the throbbing gnaw of the injury continued, but he could ignore it easily.

He opened his eyes. The elf was leaning in, no more then a hand away, watching, an intense look of curiosity on his face. But for some reason Earendil saw profound sadness in his eyes. In his mind the light was gone, and he could feel the pain in his leg, but he wasn't worried. Raising his palm he exhaled deeply onto the smooth, silver bark and said his mother's words.

"Ârû zîrân. Yôz anki kastar anni. Ki-yôzahê abâr nê-nada, Zâira 'nki."

Earendil felt the light move through his fingers, a tingling warmth that passed from him and into the bark. Placing it into his mouth, he chewed for a minute and then pushed the fibrous mass into his cheek. The pain in his leg subsided almost immediately, quickly becoming bearable.

"I don't know your name, my lord," he said to the elf, "but if you are still willing, I could use your help getting to the tents."

The elf smiled, and began to help the boy to his feet, but the sadness in his eyes remained. Earendil wasn't sure what that meant, but for the time being other matters had to be attended to. Together they hobbled slowly back to the camp.

Sitting down on the grass, Earendil began rummaging through his mothers kit once more. He was looking for marian, a type of thistle with purple flowers. He found it, clearly labeled with his mother's neat script, in a small drawstring pouch. He need to crush the petals and make a tea from the flowers, so the elf headed into the forest to collect twigs to start a fire. By the time the preparation of the flowers was complete, there was a merry little blaze going. A metal cup, made by dwarves as part of a set of cooking ware that could be placed directly into a fire, was already bubbling, and Earendil once again said the words, before sprinkling the purple powder into the water.

Pulling the last metal vile of sleeping drought from the satchel, he peeled back the wax seal and added just a a few drops of the water.

The elf watched with a quizzical look. "You are being very sparing with that," he noted.

Earendil nodded. "It's the water from that black stream near your halls," he explained. "It will allow me to sleep, and speed healing, but there will be a memory loss. With just this small amount, I shouldn't lose more than a day or two."

"You're not afraid you'll forget how to find your way to the light?" The elf sounded concerned.

Earendil had not considered this, but knew quickly that he wouldn't. "No. Being in the presence of God is not the sort of thing you forget." Removing the tea from the fire, he placed it to one side on the grass. "Lets talk a bit as the tea cools."

Prodding the fire with a stick, the blue eyed elf nodded. "By all means. What would you have us discuss?"

Earendil rotated the bark in his cheek releasing a little more of the juice to help with the pain. "Let us start with who you are."

The elf laughed lightly. "I am my father's son, as you are yours," he replied cryptically. "Unfortunately, my father had instructed those of us guarding you not to reveal ourselves."

"You four, is what you mean."

The elf raised an eyebrow. "You believe there are four of us?"

Earendil nodded. "Unless I missed one of you. The fellow across the river is making very little effort to remain hidden, and of you all, is the most careless with the twigs he steps on."

The elf looked impressed, and feeling good about himself, Earendil continued. "The fellow to the south is somewhat shorter than you, although I have only seen him twice today. And I have detected two scents to the north, and one of them is yours."

This brought a surprised look from his new companion. "I'm sorry my lord," Earendil apologized. "It is not that you smell bad, only that the other fellow smells…." he struggled for a description but failed. "Different."

"You can smell us?"

"When the wind is in the right direction." This seemed self explanatory to the young boy. "I didn't think my knowing you were there mattered," he explained, "or you'd have taken more care to conceal yourselves."

The elf looked a little chagrined, but then laughed softly "We elves are a talented bunch, I assure you, but it seems you are more attentive then we gave you credit for. And if you believe we can tell someone is hiding in the woods using our noses," he continued, "unfortunately you are mistaken." He poked the fire once more. "I will admit we did not consider the wind direction when observing you."

Earendil felt a surge of pride pass through him. To be better than an elf at anything seemed a very great achievement to a 12 year old. He shrugged. "I assumed others had the same abilities I do."

The elf shook his head. "No. You seem fairly unique in this area. Although," at this he paused, considering, "I imagine this is a gift from your father."

"You know my father?"

"Your father is known by my father, and I have been introduced."

"They are friends, our fathers?"

There was a small chuckle before the elf responded. "Your father is a great man, but I am not sure that he really has friends. He is a neighbor however, and also not someone you wish to antagonize."

"Then you know my father's name?" Earendil said this quietly, not sure if he should ask. His parents had kept this from their son, telling him that it wasn't time yet. Earendil had grudgingly accepted that, but he was growing older, and he felt an explanation was owed him.

The elf nodded. "I do know his name, young master." Then silence.

Earendil sighed. "But you're not going to tell me."

Silence again, and a shake of the head. "This is something for your parents. I would be violating that bond if I were to discuss what I knew without their consent."

The boy's head dropped and reaching over to the tea, he tested it's temperature. It was still hot, which helped the healing properties of the marian, but not so hot that it burned. Grimacing at the bitter taste of the thistle, he began to drink deeply.

"May I ask another question before this tea causes me to doze off?"

The elf nodded. "Of course, although I am sorry I have not been able to properly answer the questions you have asked me already."

Earendil shrugged. "Elves are a secretive bunch, I've been told." He was immediately sorry for bringing that up. Humans did find elves secretive, but Earendil was sure the elves found men to be equally difficult to grasp. The mixture of the tea and the alor root were probably lessening his inhibitions and making him impolite.

"You seemed so sure I could see the light," Earendil began hoping the elf hadn't taken offense. "And when I opened my eyes, I could tell you wanted to ask me what I had seen, to describe it to you."

The elf closed his blue eyes and nodded. "You are very perceptive, young master." There was that sadness again, so Earendil decided to push on before the effects of the medication truly took hold.

"So why were you so sad?"

The blue eyes opened and the elf smiled, but again his eyes told a different story. "You saw that in my face, lad?"

Earendil nodded. "It seemed clear."

"I have failed to answer any of your previous questions, but if you wish to hear a tale, I can answer this one." Prodding the fire one last time, the elf dropped his twig into the flame and stretched out on the grass, lying on his side, his head propped up on a hand, looking at the youngster. "You are asking for the tale of the Gift of Men, although it is a lesson in theology, and not a story of noble warriors or fearsome dragons."

"That's fine," the lad responded, drinking more of the tea and stifling a yawn. "I'd be very interested to hear it."

The elf pursed his lips, and pondered for a moment. "Let us begin then, with the curse of immortality."


	7. Widows and Orphans

Galadwen couldn't see Arawel as she stepped into the tent. Leindir was there, standing near a low table with an oil lamp in his hand. He nodded politely and Galadwen bowed her head in return.

"It is good to see your wounded arm is healing, My Lord."

Leindir nodded. "Yours was the more grievous injury. You seem to be moving around well."

Galadwen nodded. "I slept for two days, I am told. The wound is sealed, the skin almost knitted, and the stitches secure. I count myself as lucky."

"Luckier than you know," the commander replied. "Three soldiers were wounded by arrows the second night. None survived. Five were wounded the third night, including yourself, and all have recovered ". Closing the lamp's door, he turned up the flame to provide light and placed it on the table. "I think we know who we have to thank for that."

Galadwen nodded. "I made certain to make my thanks known to Earendil this afternoon as we arrived at camp."

"Is that my wayward handmaiden?"

The voice came from behind the folding screen set up to shield the bed from the entrance to the tent. Galadwen thought Lady Arawel sounded a bit unwell.

"Yes my lady," Leindir answered. "It is late however, and she will return in the morning."

"Nonshense," replied Arawel, even as Leindir had begun to nudge Galadwen towards the door. "Get her in here sho I can talk with her."

Galadwen was quite sure that something was amiss, and walking around the screen, found lady Arawel sprawled across her bed in a most unladylike manner, one leg hanging off the bed with it's boot on, the other stretched towards the far side of the bed, boot off.

Arawel struggled to right herself, propping herself up against the headboard. As she did, Leindir whispered in Galadwen's ear. "My wife has had some unfortunate news from the Master of Laketown and is not herself."

Looking at her mistress, Galadwen suspected she might not be herself because of drink, although that seemed unlikely. "I can come back in the morning, my Lady, if you need rest," she offered, looking for a way to end this quickly.

Finally finding a position she found comfortable and moderately upright, Lady Arawel waved her hand haphazardly. "Nonshense my girl. I have shomething I need to discuss with you."

"Oh dear," Galadwen thought. "She has been drinking"

"About that shilver haired monster you've been cavorting about with of late".

Cavorting?

"My lady, you misunderstand," Galadwen began. "He provided me a great service tending…"

Lady Arawel waved her off again. "Honestly young mish, I'm not interested in how well he's been servicing you.."

Galadwen gasped in shock, and dropping her head, covered her face with her hands. Next to her Leindir inhaled sharply in displeasure.

"Now don't be angry dear," Arawel continued. "We are both women of the world, and after that night on the hill how could any man, particularly a human boy, resist your charms?"

"I'm sorry my Lady," Galadwen responded from behind her hands, "I don't understand."

"Oh my dear, you're playing coy. That's sweet." Leaning froward, Arawel said, slightly more softly, "The poor boy never stood a chance. I've been around a bit, my dear, and your bosoms are a gift from Eru himself. And letting them fall out like that…"

"That is enough," Leindir interrupted sharply, pushing past the now sobbing handmaiden and standing between her and his wife.

Lady Arawel seemed bemused. "Now. You got a good look at them too, dearest. Weren't they spectacular?"

With a wail, Galadwen spun and fled from the tent, tears streaming down her face. "How could she think I did that on purpose?" she thought. "I was wounded, I could have died."

She fled into the approaching night, trying to find her tent through the tears. When she finally did, she flew inside, throwing herself down onto her cot in front of a shocked Silima. Rushing to her friend, Silima scooped Galadwen up in a hug, holding her and stroking her hair. It took a long while to get the story from her distraught friend as the tears continued, and the other handmaiden was not not pleased with what she heard.

"May I enter?" It was a man's voice.

"Is that you Commander?" asked Silima, recognizing the voice.

"It is."

"I thought so," she said in a disgusted voice. "Go away."

That brought a few moments of silence as the commander tried to think of another approach.

"I wish to talk to young Galadwen if it's possible?" He tried again.

Silima sprung to her feet and marched from the small tent, colliding solidly with Leindir who, facing a handmaiden with fury written all over her face, stumbled back a couple of paces in shock.

"It is not bloody well possible," the girl screamed. "Your wife is a monster, and if you've come here to try and explain how this is all some sort of mistake, you're a damn monster as well."

Leindir had a pained looked upon his face and was silent for a moment. Then, lowering his eyes, he dropped to one knee before the surprised girl. "You are entirely correct, my lady. Your friendship and defense of lady Galadwen is commendable, and as Galadwen is indisposed, I would ask that you accept my deepest apologies and forward them to her."

"Thank you commander." It was Galadwen who answered, stepping outside and standing behind her still fuming friend. Galadwen's shoulders still shook, occasional sobs escaped her, and her eyes were bloodshot, but she was trying to regain her composure. Moving a storm faced Silima to one side, she stood in front of the kneeling form of Leindir. "Do rise Commander. You are embarrassing yourself."

Leindir did not rise. "Perhaps I am, my lady, but I would be more ashamed if I let this pass without proper apologies. Lady Arawel has no excuse for her behavior towards you this evening, and I failed you by not refusing you entry to our tent when my wife was in that condition."

Galadwen nodded, her sobs subsiding somewhat. "Thank you my Lord. Oh do rise, this is unseemly."

Leindir looked up. "With your permission?"

"Of course my Lord. I insist."

Nodding his head, Leindir stood up. "I am not sure what I can say, my lady, but I can assure you that in the morning, I will make lady Arawel fully understand the necessity for an apology of her own."

"Thank you my lord," Galadwen's had control of herself now, but her voice was tired. "I appreciate the consideration for my feelings, but as you must know, I cannot continue in service of lady Arawel following this incident."

Leindir thought for a moment. "I understand, and concur. I am unable to send you home of course, but I will endeavor to find you other work, if you wish."

Galadwen nodded. "I'm not sure what there is for me besides being a handmaiden, but if you would give it thought, I would appreciate it greatly."

Leindir nodded. "In the morning we will be packing up camp and boarding a longboat for Laketown. I hope we can talk again during the voyage and perhaps find a way for you to contribute." Taking a half step forward, he bowed his head slightly before continuing. "When we stood unaided on that hill three nights ago, a young girl with no real training, took a spear and held the line against a terrible foe. It was courage no one would expect, and I will honor it." Stepping back, he saluted as if she were soldier herself, then turned on his heel and disappeared into the night.

Silima took her friend by the shoulders and pulled her into a gentle hug. "I'm going to leave that cow's service as well," she said, holding Galadwen close.

Galadwen laughed at that. "Lady Arawel is not a cow," she chided gently, "but I don't understand what came over her. She's always been so strong and in control of herself before this. She does need some help though, Silima. She can't ask one of the female guards to attend to her, and she still has important work to do." Galadwen sighed. "My parents are not going to be happy when they learn of what happened."

"Your parents know you better than anyone," Silima reassured, "and as you did nothing wrong, you know they will understand."

Galadwen shrugged. "I suppose you're right," then, realizing her hunger said, "is there any food available in the camp?"

Silima smiled. "Let's head over to the meal tent. I'm sure they still have food left over from dinner."

Fortunately there was food left over, and one of the foraging parties had managed to locate some pork. A good meal of roast pork, and not very stale bread made Galadwen feel a bit better, and after washing her face, she went to bed full, if not entirely happy.

The next morning she awoke just before dawn. Silima was already up and dressing, preparing to go tend to lady Arawel. She offered again to let "that old Troll" tend to her own needs for the remainder of the trip, but Galadwen pushed her friend out through the tent flap, and began preparing herself for the day. She dressed in one of her own skirts, a far more simple affair than the clothes loaned to her by her former mistress, and after neatening her hair and washing her face and hands, she realized she had nothing to do. Her mornings had always been accounted for, preparing her lady's morning meal, folding clothes and helping with the packing of the pavilion. But with her new found unemployment, she had to find something of her own to occupy her time.

First there was breakfast, which consisted of a small piece of waybread. This wasn't an unusual breakfast, as carrying large stores of food was burdensome. Still, while a bite of lembas might keep an elf going for a whole day, it did nothing to satisfy hunger and frankly, was quite dry and dull.

Breakfast done, Galadwen began looking about for something else to occupy her time. All around her men and elves alike were hustling about, efficiently disassembling the camp. Tents were coming down, packs being being loaded onto horses and preparations completed for the move northwards towards the lake, and from there on to Esgaroth. The boats in which they had traveled up the river had been drawn up from the water and groups of soldiers, both elves and men, were gathered around each of them. Galadwen noted that each group had a human in simple garb guiding the preparations.

"A man from South End," Galadwen thought. "They would know how to rig a boat for portage above the falls". A sadder thought then came to her, that these were probably all the men left in that small village, but with this an idea sprang to mind. Rushing back to her tent, she found her sketching satchel and rushed off to find the Commander.

He was not hard to locate, surrounded by several elven soldiers and occasionally pointing in an authoritative manner. Galadwen was relieved to see his wife was not with him, and when he appeared done giving orders, she stepped forward.

Firstly she saluted, palm flat to her chest, head dipped. She wasn't sure why she did this until she answered both her own question and the commander's confused look. "I never returned your salute from last night, commander," she explained.

Leindir smiled, returning the salute.

"No dipped head, unlike last night", Galadwen noticed. "There's more to this than I thought. "Reminding herself to brush up on salute etiquette, she pushed onwards. "Commander, I would like permission to move ahead of the rest of the party and visit South End."

Leindir nodded. "By all means. We will be there in just a few hours, and are expecting a longship to carry myself, lady Arawel, and a few others to Laketown. I would like you to accompany us."

Galadwen was mildly surprised by this. As she was no longer part of Lady Arawel's contingent, she had expected to travel with the others in the smaller boats.

"Of course Commander. I will be in the town when you arrive," she replied.

Leaving the camp behind, she moved quickly along the banks of the Celduin, climbing past Mere's End and continuing on to South End. The town couldn't be described as bustling, but it was far more active then it had been the day before. On the river a team of boys were climbing over the piers, reattaching struts and preparing to rebuild the bridge. In town many of the women were sweeping, cleaning or otherwise neatening up, probably preparing for the arrival of the strange group of elves, Galadwen thought.

Entering the town, she began looking about for the woman from the afternoon before. Asking a young mother, who was trying to keep track of two small children while scrubbing the doorstep of her otherwise run down dwelling, she was met with a deep curtsy. "She lives in a house facing the commons, milady. The door is topped with the coat of arms for South End, so you won't miss it."

Galadwen had no idea what the local coat of arms I looked like, but assuming she'd recognize it when she saw it, she thanked the overworked young woman. This garnered and even deeper curtsy and an, "always at your service, milady," which seemed rather over the top for the young elf. Still, she nodded in what she hoped was a friendly manner, and headed for the piers she had visited the night before.

A fish jumping up a waterfall. At least that's what Galadwen thought it was. It was carved on the lintel, but had not been repainted in quite a while and had seen better days. Knocking gently, she waited a few moments before the door opened to reveal the frazzled looking woman from the previous day. A look of shocked recognition crossed the lady's face and she dropped into yet another curtsy. "I am honored to have you visit, milady."

Galadwen rolled her eyes in annoyance. This was getting a bit much, but fortunately the stout lady was looking down deferentially and didn't notice. "Please my good woman, my name is Galadwen and there is nothing about me that requires a curtsy."

The woman raised her face to the elf and smiled. "Milady, you must see it from our point of view." Rising, she looked earnestly into Galadwen's eyes. "Our town had lost most of it's men folk, and for more than three weeks we had been kept from our fields. Terrorized by murderers, we had barely enough to eat, and were looking at a long, slow death from starvation come the winter."

Galadwen tried to interrupt, but the townswoman shook her head. "No milady. You need to understand. Our lord had abandoned us, and we were without hope. That was until an elven lady, in as beautiful a blue dress as you could ever imagine, walked in out of the wilds and told us she and her folk, with the help of troops sent by a King we thought slain more than two centuries ago by a great dragon, had found and destroyed the orcs that had plagued us."

At this the woman took the elf maids hands in hers. "You spoke to us kindly, and whether you're of noble birth or not, you were the messenger of hope we had no hope of ever meeting. We still have no grain, and we will struggle to grow enough food to supply us for a long winter, but there is a chance now that some of us may yet survive to see the next spring."

Galadwen's eyes were misting, and she leaned forward and embraced the poor lady. "I fear you give me far too much credit," Galadwen whispered, "but I am so thankful for your warmth, and gladdened that some hope has been rekindled in your hearts." Fighting back tears, Galadwen then asked, "your name is Hilda, am I correct good woman?"

"Hilda. Yes milady."

Galadwen nodded. "Hilda. I am saddened to hear that the master did not send you aid when you needed it, and I know that you need it still. I do not believe he would so callously ignore your plight, and I must think that he simply doesn't understand your situation. If you would allow me, I would speak on your behalf to my mistress, so that she may present to him the truth of your plight." At this Galadwen reached into her satchel, and pulling out parchment and charcoal, continued. "I would ask your permission to draw the faces of the widows of South End, so that I can hope to impress upon the Master and the council how dire your situation is." Galadwen paused before adding, "even the hardest heart may soften when a face can be connected to a tale of suffering."

Hilda curtsied once more. "We are all truly grateful for your compassion, milady. Please make yourself at home. I will bring each of the widows here so you may sketch their likeness."

Galadwen sat in a simple chair, behind a nondescript wooden table, and poured her heart into the most important task she had yet done in her life. She was terrified of what would happen if she failed, and determined that she would not. The deep lines of sadness in one woman's face, the dark circles under the eyes of another. Each picture had to be perfect, had to show the grief, the sadness, the loss. She found herself including the children, eyes large with fear, even though they didn't understand why their father was gone.

Had she been paying attention, Galadwen would have seen the shadows from the one open window move across the room, would have realized the hours she had spent worrying that every line carried weight, that every curve reflected the terrible loss the young elven woman had now begun to share. But she didn't pay attention and time slipped by unnoticed.

"Milady?" It was Hilda. The young woman Galadwen had met coming into the town had just left with her two children, a boy of 7 and a girl of 4. Their father had died protecting the bridge, giving the boys of the village time to tear it down, trapping him on the far blinked, trying to focus on anything other than the endless stories of loss she had heard during the past… How long had it been?

"Milady?" Hilda again.

"Yes Hilda. I'm sorry. What is it?"

"There is a gentleman, well, an elf here to see you. He said you'd know who he was. Military type, I would say from the armor."

"Oh dear," Galadwen began rounding up her sketches, rushing to put her supplies back into her satchel. "I was hoping to get more done, but I shouldn't keep the commander waiting."

Hilda shook her head. "You have sketched us all, milady," she said. "23 widows and 31 orphans. And the gentleman in question has been waiting quite some time."

This caught Galadwen by surprise. "What do you mean?"

"He arrived about an hour after the longboat, so four hours after dawn," Hilda explained. "When I told him what you were doing, he said they would wait, and asked that you not be disturbed."

Galadwen was stunned. "Four hours after dawn? What time is it now?"

"The sun will set in slightly more than three hours, milady."

Oh by the Fourteen! She had kept them waiting all day. Leaping from behind the desk, she rushed to the door. Blinking as she stepped into the late afternoon sunlight, she looked about the small commons. "How could all of this happened without me noticing," Galadwen thought.

The river boats had apparently all completed the portage, five of them were fully loaded and sitting on the shore. Looking into the lake she could see several others already moving north and west, tacking across the wind under small, square sails. A much larger version of the river boats, perhaps 20 paces long and five at the beam, sat tied to the nearest pier. Numerous sailors and rowers loitered about her deck or on the dock. If there had been items to load, it appeared to have been completed some time before. An open sided canopy had been erected across from Hilda's home on the shores of the lake. Galadwen could see Leindir, Belem, lady Arawel and others sitting on camp stools and their heads turned to look at the young elf as she appeared in the doorway. With a word to the others, the commander stood, crossing the commons towards Galadwen, who rushed to meet him.

"I am so sorry sir…"

Leindir stopped her with a raised hand. "Do not worry yourself, Galadwen," he said in a soft voice. "As we made our way here, Belem told us what happened to you yesterday. We asked as to your whereabouts upon arriving, and were told of what you were doing by the Firstman's wife, good Hilda here." The commander indicated to someone standing behind Galadwen, but she was too shocked to look. Leindir continued, "Lady Arawel and I thought your task might prove productive and asked that you be allowed to complete your task uninterrupted."

Galadwen looked past the commander to Arawel, still seated under the canopy. It didn't make up for the night before of course, but it was a kind gesture and would make staying mad at her much harder.

Leindir smiled slightly, as if he could see what the Galadwen was thinking. "If you have finished, we can leave when you are ready."

Galadwen bowed her head slightly. "Thank you my lord. Just allow me to collect my sketches."

Moving quickly back into the house, she gathered up her things and returned to the commons. The canopy was already down, and lady Arawel was walking along the dock towards a boarding plank. Belem and Leindir were talking together at the foot of the pier. It looked like the entire town was there to see them off, gathered at a respectful distance around the perimeter of the semicircle. Hilda and Steinarr stood halfway across the dirt, between her and the docks. As she approached, the Firstman bowed at the waist and Hilda, crossing one leg behind the other, curtsied deeply.

Galadwen felt a rush of heat in her face, blushing at this public display being afforded her. Thinking to put things right, she cleared her throat before she spoke. "Dear people of South End," she wasn't sure what she was going to say, she only hoped she could reassure them and make them understand who she was. "I am honored by the treatment you have afforded me, but would tell you that I am no great lady. I am just a young woman, little more than a girl as my people would judge me, and have no history of nobility or leadership in my blood." She looked at the faces of those gathered about her, at the women and their children, and at the few remaining men. She had come to know the grief of the widows, and she understood the guilt of those few remaining men, men who had been on the water when the orcs had come, and were alive for no other reason than good fortune.

"It was not I that spared you from the orcs. If any are to be thanked, it is the soldiers that fought these creatures, elves led by the courage of commander Leindir, and the men of Dale rushing to our aid, led by noble captain Belem." She pointed to the two men at the base of the pier. "Those two stand there, and should be thanked so they may carry it to their troops." All eyes turned their way, and heads were bowed in thanks by every townsperson gathered there.

Galadwen had intended to leave it at that, but something inside drove her forward. What had happened to these people simply couldn't stand. They could not be ignored by their leaders for no other reason than they were poor. "As I told you, I am no lady of power, but I have come to feel deeply your loss. With whatever strength I have, I will serve you in this matter," Galadwen felt the tears flowing down her cheeks now, but her voice lost none of it's strength, if anything, it's power grew.

"I will find a way to bring you the aid you need," she was turning slowly now as she spoke, letting each of the townsfolk see her, see her sincerity. "I cannot believe your lord would just abandon you, and I will make him see the suffering the orcs have wrought. And if the light of Iluvatar cannot guide this man, I will find other means of helping you." She didn't know where these words were coming from, they simply spilled out of her, but still she drove on.

"I know you have perhaps two weeks until seeds must be in the ground, if you are to have a harvest capable of sustaining you through the harsh winter months. I will see that it gets to you, because I could not bear to see good people such as you starve."

She turned back to Hilda and Steinarr. "I am your servant in this," she said, tears still falling. "You have my oath as an elf of Lothlorien that I will not let this town perish."

At this, Galadwen's will broke, the tears overcame her and bowing her head quickly, she rushed towards the two officers who were now waiting a few feet onto the dock. Not wanting the commander to see her tears, she avoided Leindir's eyes, but as she went to pass him, he gently stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"You should turn around," he said softly.

Slowly turning about, Galadwen looked through tear soaked eyes back at the ring of townsfolk. Everywhere she saw figures on one knee, heads bowed in silent homage. Even the children, mimicking their elders, were paying their respects.

"But paying their respects to who?" Galadwen thought. "I am no-one, in no way worthy of this honor."

Drawing herself up, the maiden tried to compose herself. She dropped into as deep and elegant a courtesy as she could manage, dropping her head reverently, and holding it for a long moment. Then rising, she turned to face Leindir who stood several paces behind her.

"What have I done, Leindir?" she whispered. "What if I fail these people?"

Leindir bowed his head slightly, but fixed Galadwen with a strong gaze. "I do not believe you will fail, good Galadwen."

Galadwen smiled slightly, happy for the support.

"Please Commander, get me out of here. My heart cannot take any more."


	8. One Man's Curse

As he ran, Earendil's mind re-focused on where he was. He had just passed through the town of Riversmouth, set on the east coast of the River Running where it emptied into the lake. It was growing rapidly of late, both because land here was fertile and easily irrigated, but also because trade down the river from Erebor could be loaded onto larger boats for transport to Laketown or, they hoped soon, past Mere's End and on to destinations in the south. Crossing a highly arched stone bridge to the west shore of the river, he turned north onto a wide, smoothly paved road.

The dwarves from the Lonely Mountain had been busy here creating a broad trade route hugging the west bank of the River Running. It connected the northern edge of Long Lake to the gates of Erebor and was wide enough for strong mules to tow barges back upstream, while still allowing traffic to use the road in both directions. A low stone wall lined the river along it's entire length.

Great efforts had been made to make the road smooth and fast with large, carefully fitted flagstones paving it from end to end. Following this road, it was 13 leagues to Dale and nearly 15 to Erebor. Earendil had spent 9 hours running almost that exact distance along the east coast of the lake from South End, but it would take him just 6 more to cover the rest.

He lengthened his stride and sunk back into thought.

Night came on quickly in Mirkwood as the sun sank below the mountains to the west. Much of what little light managed to slip over the peaks was absorbed by the thick foliage and so, by the time the blue eyed elf began his tale, the sounds of night in the forest filled the air around them. Earendil had spent many nights in this forest, so this didn't worry him. He knew that farther south great spiders were common, and the danger greater, but here along the shores of the Forest River with a merry fire warming the night air, there was little to fear.

"Elves are immortal." Earendil's unnamed companion started his story without preamble. "Would you agree?"

Earendil nodded. "That's what I'm told."

The elf raised his eyebrows and nodded, "and in many ways, from the perspective of man, we are. But everything made by Eru Iluvatar will die, as only the Father is forever. Here in Middle Earth," he continued, "we elves are nearly as mortal as any other creature. If you were to take that rock down by the river," and at this the elf waved in the direction of the sound of the running water, "and while I slept, were to strike me in the head and crush my skull, my body would suffer such great damage that it could no longer contain my soul. When this happens, the soul would depart my body just as it would were I a man."

Drawing a small piece of dried meat from a pouch at his waist, the elf tore it in half and offered some to young Earendil. Both chewed for a while before the story continued. "So you see at this point, a man and an elf are the same. But from here things change. My soul would find itself here, in this clearing, with no home left to return to, and so I would be called west to the Halls of Mandos."

"The Doomsman of the Valar," Earendil interjected.

The elf chuckled, and took another bite of his dried meat. "I'm not sure that's how he would see himself, but yes, that is he. So if I choose to follow his call to the west," the elf paused here and looked at the boy across the fire from him. "I see in your eyes the question you would ask. Yes, I could refuse to go, but what would happen to me if I chose that is not a tale for dark nights around small camp fires."

Earendil swallowed the question and allowed the elf to continue.

"So Mandos accepts the souls of all who are slain, cares for them as they overcome the loss and grief they suffered here in Middle Earth, and then when he deems it time, and when my soul feels ready, he would return me to Valinor in a body identical to the one I lost here."

"So you could return to Middle Earth?"

The elf shrugged. "It was once possible, although I know of only two cases in which it happened." The elf seemed to think this over for a moment, and then continued. "Now however, Valinor is no longer part of Arda, but somewhere in the void. Elves can find there way there by sailing west, but I don't think they can return to this realm."

Sitting up, the elf twisted at the waist, stretching his back. "And so, we elves continue on until this song ends, until this creation of Eru ends, at which time an even more beautiful song will be sung which will involve all of those whose souls were a part of this creation."

"And what happens to the souls of men?"

The elf's eyes saddened, the light of the flickering campfire reflecting in them. "This is the Gift of Man. Elven souls are tied to the song, tied to Arda, and will remain here for as long as the world exists. A man's soul is free of the world and can he chose to listen to the song, fight it, or ignore it altogether."

The boy seemed lost. "But why would he do that?"

The elf smiled ruefully. "All creatures make choices that others find incomprehensible. But for a man, with only a few years on this world, he is driven to try and make as much of his life as he can in the short time he has." The thin elven figure was now sitting cross legged across from Earendil, and he leaned forward to look sternly at his pupil. "Elves will be here throughout history, will watch it change from misty thoughts, to substance, and back to mist again. But Eru has placed in the hands of man the power to make history, to guide his plan through free will, and plot it's course. Men are driven to achieve much, and to do it in the little time they are granted, and because of that, they often chose to imagine there is no song."

Earendil nodded his head. "That is as it may be," he said, "but why does it sadden you?"

"Remember when I said Mandos would call me to the Halls?" the elf asked.

Earendil nodded.

"He will do the same to you, one day. However, unlike an elf who's soul is tied to Arda, you will have no choice but to heed the call, and after your time in the Halls, you too will be sent onward."

Earendil nodded. "That is as my mother told me. But unlike you, I will not be brought back to live in Valinor."

The elf nodded sadly.

"My mother says I will move on to be with Eru, to be in His light and hear His song, the song of the creation, Ea"

Again the elf nodded. "We are not certain of this," he admitted, "and if the Valar know, they don't speak of it. But we elves believe it to be so."

And with this the young Earendil understood. "So you will live an eternity, perhaps tens of thousands of years. They will be pleasant years, with beauty and warmth, but you believe real beauty is only found in the Song, and true warmth is only felt in His light," watching the elf, Earendil could see the words hit home. "Soon, at the end of my hard, short life, I will bear witness to this, while you must wait forever, always knowing what you desire can't be yours, that you cannot be whole until creation ends."

The elf, who was looking deeply into the fire, slowly raised his face to gaze at the boy. "Those are harsh words, young master," he said quietly.

Earendil looked away, ashamed. "I am sorry."

The elf exhaled deeply. "But they are true. When I saw that you had been in the presence of the creator, had seen His light, I wanted nothing more than to feel it with you. I am ashamed to say I was jealous of you, even angry."

Earendil still couldn't look back at his companion. "This may be of little solace," the boy said softly, " but I felt recognition when I saw the light. Pride that I had achieved a goal He had set for me, like my father would if I tracked an animal using skills he taught me." Now Earendil looked up, across the fire to the grim elf. "I'm certain you were placed here to teach me this, that you fulfilled your role in His plan. He is proud of you, I am sure."

The elf smiled, and then let out a short laugh. "You must be right, good lad. Why else would an elf come to be sitting in the clearing with a young human boy discussing theology?"

Earendil laughed too, and then stifled an enormous yawn. "It did seem silly," he thought. The marian tea was weighing heavily on his mind, and he looked about for his mother's pack.

"I think I must rest, my friend." Stretching out on the cool grass, Earendil laid his head on the satchel. "I hope I recall this in the morning, but whether I do or not, thank you." His eyes closed and he began slipping quickly into sleep.

"Sleep well lad," the Elf answered. "I will rest here too for the night, if you don't mind the company."

Earendil muttered something incomprehensible, and began to dream.

The sun had not yet cleared the eastern trees when Earendil awoke. He knew it was still early, and he was comfortable under a blanket that someone had placed over him as he slept, so he lay for a while with his eyes closed taking in the sounds of birds and the rush of the nearby river. Presently he heard voices moving in his direction. Two of them, both elven, as they were speaking an elven dialect. He had just begun learning Sindarin from his mother, and while the words sounded familiar, he had trouble understanding the conversation.

Rolling his head towards the voices, he watched through half closed eyes as the blue eyed elf from the night before walked out of the woods near the river, moving towards him while talking with a shorter, stouter elf. This elf was talking, and Earendil heard some words he thought he knew. "Soon" or "shortly" seemed clear, along with "parents", from which he assumed his parents were almost back at camp. Staying still and listening carefully, he waited as the pair got closer. Unlike the night before, both his unknown friend and the newcomer were armed, carrying a quiver on their hips, a spear in one hand, and a bow strung over a shoulder. The newcomer said something in the difficult accent which Earendil couldn't understand, but was whispered and urgent. To this blue eyed elf responded in a reassuring tone with,"resting" and something which seemed like "throughout the day", or maybe "for many days yet."

Earendil pieced together what had been said, and deciding it might be entertaining to surprise his new found friend once again, sat up and stretched dramatically. "Good morning," he said to startled looks. "I hope you slept well."

The blue eyed elf smiled. "I rested well, as did my companion."

Earendil nodded. "That is good. I assume things are well to the south, master elf?" He addressed himself to the newcomer, who seemed the same size as the elf he had spotted in the woods south of the camp. Earendil was gratified to get a pleasingly shocked look in response. He was really warming up to shocking elves, and fortunately he received more opportunities.

The shorter elf hissed into his companion's ear, and while most of the words weren't familiar, Earendil heard "throughout the day" once again.

"Yes," the lad agreed. "I thought I'd be sleeping a while longer too."

This brought even more wide eyed shock from the newcomer.

"I heard you mention my parents being back soon." Earendil was having a splendid time talking to this new fellow. "Can you guess how far off they are?"

The blue eyed elf burst into a peel of laughter. "I told you the lad had good ears," he chuckled. "Although I didn't know he spoke Silvan, or that he was a smart-ass," he added with a sly look.

Earendil looked down, a bit embarrassed, but still smiling broadly.

"Get back to your post…." It seemed blue eyes was about to mention the other elf's name, but then changed his mind. "I will handle it from here."

The second elf saluted. That Earendil found interesting, as it indicated his friend had a position of importance. Turning back to the boy, the remaining elf walked the last few paces to the ashes of he fire, and sat down.

"Did you enjoy that?"

Earendil didn't see the point in lying. "Yes." He was still smiling.

Looking the lad over the elf said, "you are feeling better it seems. Your sleep was deep and you seemed comfortable, although I thought it would last longer."

Earendil nodded. "Yes. Since my parents are not here, I assume this is just the next morning. I thought I would be asleep longer as well."

"As did we."

The voice was deep, powerful, and didn't sound pleased. Both Earendil and the elf turned to see the large, muscular form of the boy's father, accompanied by Tindomial, walking from the cover of the nearby trees. His mother had a lean, strong face, with dark eyes and blonde, straight hair braided down the back, and as was her custom, a veil tied under the chin, covering her head and falling off her shoulders down her back. She was tall, something that would have been more evident were she not with his father, and her was body lean and well muscled. She looked to Earendil like a warrior, and indeed she came from that stock, her family having lived for generations in the north on the far side of the Misty Mountains. The boy had never met this side of his family. It was a long and perilous journey, his mother had explained. But the boy knew that Tindomial had left her home on less than pleasant terms, and he believed that this, more than geography, was the reason they didn't travel to visit his mother's kin.

"I suppose your father put you up to this." His father's voice was a growl rolling out from his chest as he spoke to the blue eyed elf. "You know you are supposed to leave us be."

The elf stood up quickly, backing several paces away from Earendil. "I am very sorry, my lord," the elf said, bowing. "I would have remained in the woods as we agreed, only the boy hurt himself."

Earendil nodded vigorously. He knew this tone of voice was not a good sign and wanted to help his new friend. "It's true father," he said earnestly. "I trapped my foot in rocks on the edge of the river, and broke my leg."

Tindomial's eyes widened in shock, and letting out a startled gasp, she rushed forward to join her son. His father glanced briefly in the boy's direction, and seeing nothing amiss, turned his attention back to the elf. "Looks fine to me."

Blue eyes seemed a bit nervous and tried to explain. "Yes, well you see, the lad used his mother's kit to patch himself up."

Tindomial had arrived by her son's side, and kneeling down, pulled back the blanket. Earendil's right pant leg was still pulled up to the knee, and reaching gently down, the concerned mother gently prodded the injured leg.

"It was the right one?" she asked.

Earendil nodded. "Yes mother." He could feel her fingers working at the shin bone, but only felt the slightest discomfort.

Tindomial looked up at her son, a questioning look in her dark eyes. "What did you do to treat it?"

"Alor bark for the pain, and a brew of marion petals to help with swelling and the knitting of the bone."

His mother nodded, returning her attention to the leg. "I don't think it was broken son," she said. "There was perhaps a crack in the bone…"

The elf interrupted. "I am sorry my lady, but I saw the injury and the leg was certainly broken, although the bone was not displaced."

Earendil agreed. "I heard the snap mother, and the symptoms were just as you described." He looked to blue eyes for support. "Rapid swelling and a dramatic rushing of blood to the injured site."

The elf agreed. "Exactly as the lad describes."

"The pain was quite terrible, mother," the boy continued. "I'm afraid I opened your last vial of the water for use in the brew to help me sleep."

His mother raised her eyes from the examination, quickly looking at her son. "From the black creek?"

Earendil nodded.

"And you remember this?"

That was a good point, Earendil conceded. He shouldn't remember any of this, at least back as far as the trip through the forest two days ago.

Reaching up and laying a hand gently on her son's cheek, Tindomial looked into his eyes. "What did you do, son?"

There was only one explanation Earendil could think of. "I said the words, mother. And saw the light. It was warm, like you said it would be."

Tindomial burst into tears, grasping her son's face and showering kisses upon him. The boy struggled to free himself from this dramatic show of love, but to no avail.

Walking slowly forward, the large man drew up next to the elf, both watching the Tindomial raining affection down on her unwilling boy. "Tin knows a lot about healing plants," he said, leaning over to whisper in a low rumble, "but you're telling me that magic-word hokum she's been pushing on the lad for years actually works?"

Blue eyes nodded, smiling at the scene playing out in front of him. "It's actually highly effective hokum, in the right hands."

Earendil broke away from his mother for a moment. "It was actually this elf that helped me," he said, hoping she'd go kiss him instead.

The elf bowed his head modestly. "I merely asked that you follow your mother's instructions."

Earendil disagreed. "He insisted. Told me that the Father comes to you in times of need and pain, and that I should look for him. I wouldn't have bothered trying were it not for him."

Tindomial mouthed an exaggerated "thank you" to the elf, then returned to kissing her boy. Earendil's father shrugged his shoulders.

"I should have known that light-and-love shite would be something you elves were into." Then seeing the elf's incredulous expression, his voice softened a bit. "Still, you have made my Tin very happy, and seem to have helped patched up the lad as well." With that he crashed a huge hand down onto the elf's shoulder in what, Earendil supposed, passed for a pat on the back to his father. The blue eyed elf's knees buckled slightly, but he remained standing.

"I owe you thanks, my little tree loving friend. You're welcome in my hall at any time. I don't have the great platters you may be used to, just heavy cream, buttered bread with honey and mead. Still, I will treat you well, and see that you don't leave hungry."

Turning back to look at his boy, he added. "Best come alone though. I'm not overfond of crowds."

The elf nodded.

"And do send word before you arrive, as I prefer not to be surprised."

And then after a short pause.

"And by any time, I mean any time but not at night."

"Don't plan on staying too long either."

The blue eyed elf began to laugh. "I thank you for the hospitality of your hall, my lord, but I think it is time I returned to my duties. Stay well, young master," he called to Earendil who was still wrapped up by his mother. "I will try and stay upwind from now on."

Turning to the bearded man, the elf bowed. "I would appreciate it if you would not mention this to my father, if you two were to meet again. I was not supposed to speak with any of you, and I am not sure the situation that arose would sway his opinion concerning that command."

The man nodded. "As you wish. You have many responsibilities in these woods, and I wouldn't want to make your life any more complicated than it already is."

Blue eyes laughed. "It is my lack of interest in those responsibilities that irks my noble sire." The elf shook his head. "I'm afraid I will be a disappointment. I can't see myself accepting my role here in Mirkwood when there is yet so much to see in the rest of Middle Earth."

The big man nodded in understanding. "You are one of the least elven elfs I have met, and I must say I like you more for it. Wanderlust is a good thing, little one. It has served me well. I have seen many things and met many people, learning much from each of them." At this the big man let out a guttural laugh. "Of course that has led me to living alone with only animals as my companions, but with luck you will meet a better class of folk then I did."

The elf smiled, and looked briefly towards Tindomial. "Not entirely alone, it would seem."

A broad smile broke through his bushy beard, and the big man nodded in agreement. "And it was her wanderlust that brought her to me. So you see, if the world is calling you, it is doing so for a reason. You should go, and your father be damned." Then, shrugging his shoulders he added. "Anyway, you're an elf. It's not as if you won't still have plenty of time to spend with your responsibilities."

The elf bowed. "Thank you sir, I will consider your advice," and then waving to the boy, he turned and moved off into the trees.

The sun was starting to rise above the eastern arm of the Lonely Mountain. Ahead of him and above was the watchtower on Ravenhill, from which a pair of good eyes could see an individual on the road all the way to the lake, and an army on the march as far away as the southern shore. Here the road turned east, following the River Running as it swept in a great curve around the city of Dale, guarding it on three sides. To attack Dale, or approach Erebor, an army had to cross the river, storm one of the two ridges and descend into the valley, or pass through the narrow gap between the river and the base of Ravenhill. All three were difficult approaches, and the dwarves were busy making it even more so.

Earendil had since met the blue eyed elf on two other occasions, and was greatly surprised when he learned who he was. He laughed at this. He would have been more surprised had he not learned who his father was earlier the same day. Still, that was a story for another time, as Dale was now in view. He had other stories to tell today. Tales of orcs and elves and of a battle fought on a small hill some days south of here. He wasn't sure where the telling of this tale would lead Dale, King Bard, or himself, but he knew that the part of it he wouldn't tell would be the most significant one, at least for him.

Having the ability to feel ones enemies in the wind was a boon he couldn't begin to place a value on, but a scent was like a ghost, and their memories could linger in your mind. The smell of spring flowers on the river bank, or of the willow trees bent over, dropping their leaves into the river. But above them all was the smell of her hair when you combed it, and it haunted him, although he now knew not all ghosts were unpleasant.


	9. New Opportunities

Leindir stood next to his wife, his elbows on the rail looking eastward at a brightening sky. It would be dawn in less than an hour, and they would be in Esgaroth shortly after that.

They had not left South End until a few hours after dark. The ship's captain had explained that the trip to Laketown would take about ten hours with the wind coming from the east. As docking was a difficult task at night, he suggested they delay departure so as to arrive just after sunrise. Arawel had agreed, and so the entire trip had been made a under high, star filled sky.

The first few hours were spent under sail, the square rigged ship heading north west with its sail turned to catch the wind blowing in off of the grasslands. As they neared the western shore they had to turn north, and so the sail was stowed and the rhythmic sound of the oars began.

The longship was an elegant craft. With a raised stern and prow, she was long, slender and had a shallow draft. This ship was large for her type with an open main deck and a rowing deck below. She had six men on deck, and another thirty below manning the oars, and while it was possible to carry cargo, she was mostly used by the council of Laketown to visit their outlying townships, or like today, to ferry dignitaries.

The trip this far had been a tense one, with Galadwen on board and his wife knowing that an apology was needed. But Arawel had seen the display of affection given the young girl as she left South End, and while Leindir thought it was deserved, if perhaps a bit overdone, his wife had seemed annoyed at the attention received. And the lass gave Arawel little opportunity to offer an apology, nodding only briefly to his wife as she boarded, and then settling in at the stern of the boat as far away as she could get from the desk and chair provided for the ambassador amidship. She and Silima had maintained this position throughout the trip, either looking out onto the lake, or wrapping themselves in traveling blankets to try and get some rest.

Arawel has made no attempt thus far to mend the situation either, although she still seemed to have an interest in the girl. She had questioned him on the information Aphador had dug up on the large, silver haired lad the evening before. He was of Numerian stock, perhaps from the small clan of Dúnedain that lived in Arnor. His name indicated that, as did his mother's, Tindomial. His father was unknown, and Tindomial had brought no other men into her life, instead focusing all her effort on raising her son and running an inn. She had apparently sold her ale-house in Esgaroth several weeks before the destruction of the city by Smaug, opening "The Kings Cup" a little more than three years earlier. It had been the first inn for the newly resettled Dale, and was widely thought to be the best establishment in the city. The dwarves of Erebor were particularly fond of it, making it a hub of deal making between dwarves and men.

Beyond that, not much about her was known, although she was despised by the Master of Laketown, who has paid a goodly sum for the doomed ale-house and still held a grudge concerning the short life of his investment. She could also handle a long knife better than most, and was willing to demonstrate her ability if the situation called for it.

The lad was an odd one. Enormous his whole life, he worked at The Kings Cup as a bartender, while doubling as muscle. Despite this later role, and unlike his mother, he was widely known as peaceful, generally avoiding conflict simply by being enormous. When someone unwisely chose to ignore his request to leave, he would wrap them up in a bear hug, and deposit them in the street. He was stronger than any two full grown man in Dale combined, and apparently more learned than nearly all of them, having been granted permission from Dáin Ironfoot himself to visit the dwarves extensive library in Erebor at his leisure. This was a very great honor, as dwarves were a friendly enough bunch, but not inclined to let outsiders into their homes. His receiving this gift was widely attributed to the quality of his mother's ale.

While all of this was interesting enough, Leindir no longer saw the need for it. Arawel's treatment of Galadwen had driven her from his wife's service, and the commander thought she should focus on the upcoming negotiations between herself, the Master of Laketown, and King Bard. Leindir knew the pressure his wife felt, and her need to make this mission a success. Thus far, it was not.

Arawel was standing upright, her hands on the rail, also looking eastward. She had been silent for some time, and her husband had decided that he would wait for her to start the conversation again.

"I have been thinking about what I should say to the girl," Arawel finally said.

Leindir nodded, but said nothing.

"An apology, of course," she continued. "But should I explain why I was in that condition last night?" With this, Arawel glanced towards her husband.

Leindir knew why, but wasn't sure it mattered and told his wife this. "What's done is done," he explained. "Just make it clear that you recognize what you did was wrong, and leave it at that."

Arawel nodded. "Yes. I suppose the why of it isn't pertinent. I will call the girl over and try and patch this up."

"Or," Leindir suggested, "you could walk over and ask politely if you could talk with her."

Arawel seemed about to argue, and then sighing, shook her head. "Sometimes it seems I am not very diplomatic for a diplomat," she said softly. "I'm glad you're here to guide me, dearest." Turning from the rail, Arawel headed aft towards the two young elf maids. They were both standing on the opposite rail looking towards the blackness of the western shore, but feeling the footsteps of Arawel and Leindir approaching, they turned.

The commander saw a look of worry cross Silima's face, and she cast a quick glance sideways at her friend. Galadwen remained calm, her face expressionless. This was a sign of her maturity, Leindir thought. No stony glare or refusal to recognize her antagonist. She appeared passive and emotionless, although he was sure that inside she was anything but.

"Lady Arawel,"Galadwen said with a slight dip of the head.

Leindir took note of that. No longer "my lady", simply an acknowledgement that his wife was older, more experienced. Galadwen was serious about cutting ties.

His wife returned the small bow with a polite nod of her own. "I was hoping you would allow me time to talk to you?"

Galadwen nodded. "Of course Lady Arawel." Turning to Silima, she laid a hand on her shoulder. "Would you mind getting me some water from the cistern?"

Silima didn't seem eager to leave her friend alone with Arawel, but Leindir was impressed by Galadwen's tact. It appeared she was trying to minimize his wife's embarrassment by removing the audience.

"I believe it's at the bow, Silima," Leindir interjected. "I would be happy to show you. I feel the need for a drink myself."

Silima still seemed uncertain, but Galadwen nodded reassuringly and nudged her towards the commander. Taking the handmaiden gently by the elbow, the two walked the length of the ship to an small, low box. Next to the box was a bucket with a rope, and removing the lid to the box, the sound of water splashing could be heard below. The box covered a tube which depended to the keel of the ship. Here there was a large barrel filled with drinking water, out of the way and it's weight doubling as ballast. Pulling up the bucket, Leindir scooped up two mugs of water using large drinking vessels found on nearby pegs. Handing one to Silima, they both looked back towards Lady Arawel and Galadwen.

"What she said to Galadwen was unforgivable," Silima stated bluntly.

Leindir shrugged his shoulders. "It was terrible, but not in keeping with my wife's nature." He took a sip from his cup before continuing, "and Galadwen has a good heart, as you probably saw in South End. I imagine she could forgive a great deal if she feels the apology is sincere."

Silima looked at the commander suspiciously. "And is it?"

"Yes." A simple answer.

Silima looked back at Galadwen. "If you say so." She sounded far from convinced.

Leindir was watching the duo carefully. His wife was keeping eye contact with the girl, but her hands were clenched tightly behind her back. He knew she did that when she was nervous or unsure. Galadwen was standing upright, keeping her eyes fixed on the taller woman before her. It was quite a distance to the stern, but the sky was now clearly showing the arrival of a new day and Leindir thought he could make out Galadwen's features well enough. Her chin was raised slightly, eyes focused and calm, absorbing what Arawel was saying. The commander had spent much of the previous afternoon talking to several members of the group about the request Galadwen had made of him. Seeing her now reassured him that the decision he had come to in that regard was a sound one.

At this moment, Galadwen held up a hand, and after a moment, she began talking to Arawel with a calm almost expressionless look. His wife dropped her eyes and, behind her back, began wringing her hands. Soon, Galadwen finished speaking and waited for a response. Arawel was still not looking up, but Leindir could see she was talking, when suddenly Galadwen flung her arms around the older woman and pulled her into a strong embrace. Arawel's body initially stiffened in shock, but only for a moment. Then, returning the embrace, the two held each other for a long few moments.

Silima started to move back towards the embracing forms, but Leindir stopped her. "Let them have a few more moments to work this through."

Silima shrugged and they both returned to watching the scene at the far end of the ship. By now the embrace was over and the two women were talking to each other, their heads close together. Arawel was shaking her head sadly as she spoke, and then Leindir saw the maid pull back and look at his wife with a shocked expression. It was Galadwen's turn to shake her head now. She was explaining something, and there was a series of quick, animated exchanges. Then, grabbing Galadwen by the hand, Arawel began to rush back to the desk set up amidships.

Silima turned to Leindir with a look that clearly asked him if he knew what was going on. The commander responded with raised eyebrows and a shrug, so together they headed amidships as well. When they arrived Arawel was rummaging around in a small chest that had been under the desk. She pulled out some parchment, which Leindir recognized as the documents sent by King Bard and the Master of Esgaroth. He opened his mouth to ask what was happening, but his wife's hand shot up, palm towards him.

"Shhhh!"

Snapping his mouth shut, Leindir waited.

Arawel had unrolled the demand from Laketown, and opening the door to the lamp clamped on a corner of the desk, she turned the wick and brought it to life. Using the extra light, and with Galadwen reading over her shoulder, she scanned the document feverishly.

"Well damn that man to Morgoth," Arawel cursed, pounding her finger down on a particular phrase. "And you're sure of what the captain said?"

"Absolutely," Galadwen assured. "But Captain Belem is asleep just over there." She indicated to a formless mass snoring in a blanket against the bulwark not five paces away.

Seeing this, Arawel turned to her husband. "Leindir, go wake the Captain and ask him."

"Would you like me to ask him anything in particular, my lady?" Leindir asked sarcastically.

Arawel smiled. "I'm sorry. I will first tell you that not only did I treat this good woman atrociously," with this she nodded her head back towards Galadwen, "but I failed entirely to recognize her quick mind and attention to detail." Turning to Galadwen, Arawel said, "would you like to tell my husband what you told me?"

Galadwen kept her face calm, but her eyes were twinkling and Leindir could see she was excited. "Lady Arawel told me of the demands leveled upon you by the Master of Esgaroth," Galadwen explained in a barely controlled voice. "In return he promised to send troops to assist in relieving us from the orcs. I merely pointed out that the men sent by Laketown had refused to take part in the actual assault. They had helped good captain Belem by transporting he and his men to the battle, but in a strict interpretation of the word, had not actually involved themselves in our relief." With this she broke into a small smile. "That is of course, if what captain Belem told me is to be believed."

Leindir smiled. "That seems a very reasonable interpretation of the agreement, good lady." He then looked over at the sleeping form of Belem, who chose that moment to snore with particular vigor. "I am certain your recollection of the conversation is sound. Perhaps I will let him sleep another hour before I discuss it with him."

Arawel nodded. "He is a long time soldier, that one," she said, smiling. "Manages to sleep like the dead even on a hard wooden deck."

Leindir agreed. "It is the sign of a good soldier that he can sleep anywhere when the opportunity arises. Speaking of sleep," he continued, looking at his wife. "You have had none my lady, and should at least get an hour of rest before we arrive in Esgaroth."

Arawel smiled at her husband. "I suppose I could curl up with a blanket in the bow," she conceded. "I imagine we will be in for an eventful day once we arrive."

Recovering a blanket from the deck near her desk, Arawel wrapped it around her shoulders. Giving her husband's hand an affectionate squeeze, she turned to Galadwen. "I wasn't able to sleep as I had no hope that this enterprise would turn out for the betterment of Lothlorien," she said. "But you have given me both hope and a chance to rest." Smiling, she embraced the young elf quickly, and then headed off to the front of the longship.

Galadwen watched her leave, a slight smile on her lips. "I suppose Silima and I could get a little more rest as well," she said, addressing Leindir.

"If you wouldn't mind," Leindir responded, "I would like to discuss with you your future role with us. I spent some time yesterday in discussions with others concerning your strengths, and have a proposal for you, should you be interested."

Galadwen looked surprised. "I wasn't expecting you to have an answer for me this quickly," she admitted. "Of course commander, I am very interested."


	10. It's Good to be the Prince

He had hoped to sleep the day away. Summer had not yet begun so even in mid afternoon it wasn't too hot to sleep. Furthermore, his room faced the the Lonely Mountain, never got the full sun, and was made from heavy stone blocks which helped keep the heat at bay.

Earlier he had spoken directly to King Bard, describing the attack on the hill and the rescue of the Lothlorien contingent. The elves wouldn't be in Laketown until nightfall at best, he had assured, and so just two hours after dawn Bard had sent a messenger to Erebor announcing his intention to leave before noon and meet the diplomats in Esgaroth. Earendil was sure Dain Ironfoot would send an emissary, probably one of the ten, but decided sleep was of far more interest to him than remaining to find out which one, and so he had excused himself and made his way to The Kings Cup and to bed.

It was an hour or so after noon when the door to his room swung open and his mother walked in. She was carrying a change of clothes and a white linen towel with blue edging. Dropping the clothes on the end of the bed, she crossed the room and opened the shutters, bathing the room in the midday light.

"It's time to get up," she said without asking her son's opinion, "and I've drawn a bath for you. When you came in you smelled like you'd run thirty leagues."

Earendil groaned loudly, and flipping onto his stomach, pulled a pillow over his head. "I did run thirty leagues."

Tin snorted. "So I'm right about the bath then. Get up."

Earendil didn't want to, but arguing with his mother would simply result in being thrashed with a stick and given even more work, so he rolled out from under his sheets putting his feet on the floor. This bed had made the trip from Laketown when his mother had moved to Dale three years before, and he had slept in it since he was a small boy. Being small was a relative thing in Earendil's case, but regardless, he had outgrown the bed some time ago and his knees were well above his waist as he stretched the sleep from his body.

Tindomial tousled the boy's hair and headed for the doorway. "I heard what happened in the south," she said. "I'm glad you're back home safe." As she closed the door behind her she added, "thirty minutes and I'll need you downstairs to help with the midday cleanup."

Earendil laughed quietly. "Not glad enough to let me sleep," he muttered. And why did he need a bath? He had bathed just before he left, and that wasn't more than five days ago. Surreptitiously, Earendil took a quick sniff and grimaced. His mother may have had a point, so picking up the clothes and the towel, he left his room and headed down the hall to the bath.

The room was small, only ten hands on a side, with a square wooden tub built into a corner. From the wall behind it came a v shaped wooden trough which, when you pulled a rope that hung from the ceiling next to the tub, opened a sluice emptying water into the tub from a large cistern on the roof.

While most homes in Dale didn't have a bath, nearly every building had a cistern of this sort, catching the rain that fell plentifully for most of the year in the lands around the Lonely Mountain. It was the only mountain of any size for fifty leagues, and though Earendil couldn't say why, it was as if it attracted clouds. The common belief was that the River Running began as a spring under Erebor, which was true for as far as it went. But it's real source was the steady rainfall around the mountain, nearly all of which found it's way to the river through innumerable washes, gullies or streams.

His mother had already filled the tub, so hanging his towel and fresh clothes on pegs along the wall, he stepped from his small-clothes and braced himself for the chill of the water. He stepped in and quickly sat down, having learned that easing his way in only prolonged the discomfort. The chill turned out to be pleasant, soothing muscles that were still tired after the long run from South End. He grabbed a bar of the grey soap his mother made, and began scrubbing away the sweat and grime of five days on the road. He wondered to himself why he always tried to avoid bathing. It was brisk, bracing, and he could feel the soreness in his body washing away along with the grime of travel.

Ten minutes of brisk scrubbing and he was done, climbing out to dry himself with the linen towel. His mother had provided him with good, clean working clothes. Dark brown, woolen knee length britches went over his small-clothes, tied with a cord at the waist. His white tunic was linen as flax grew in abundance along The Long Lake, and hung down to mid thigh. It was wrapped at the waist with a broad leather belt and pulled up a bit so there was room to move. His mother had made the belt, and the other clothes were made specifically for him after they arrived in Dale as he didn't fit standard sizes. Tying his wool stockings under his knees and pulling on some leather ankle boots, he stepped out into the hall and headed for the stairs.

Entering the common room, he looked about. There were a handful of folks still enjoying an early afternoon drink, but he was sure it had been far busier an hour before. The Kings Cup was a popular place for business to be discussed, and the spiced potatoes and rabbit were particularly well received. Most of the business for the day seemed to have wrapped up however, and only three of the twenty or so tables were occupied. Near the main door, two men were laughing through a loud conversation, while near the bar a dwarf and a man were talking quietly, papers on the table between them. The man had a young girl sitting next to him who was making a show of not paying much attention to the conversation. At the bar, another dwarf had just shaken hands with his customer, the man heading for the door and the dwarf turning back to his ale.

Earendil crossed the polished wooden floor, stopping at various tables to pick up plates or empty mugs at he went. He knew both of the dwarves, the one at the bar being Oin. Oin was a survivor of the expedition that came to retake the Lonely Mountain three years earlier, and even though each of the Ten surviving dwarves from Oakenshield's group had given half of their share to Dain Iornfoot to help fund the re-founding of Erebor, he was still wealthier than most of the kings of Middle Earth. Oin was a talented metal smith, but he had even more talented smiths working for him and had become the dwarf to talk to if you wanted a particularly fine piece of jewelry. But his true love was in books, maps or tomes, and he also was the keeper of the library in Erebor. This had been his dream, to create one of the great libraries in Middle Earth, and he had started in on it as soon as Dain had taken residence in Erebor. All of this however made reaching a deal with Oin for a beautiful piece of dwarven jewelry somewhat problematic, as one couldn't simply settle on a price. As Oin was fond of saying, "he had more coins than he could count", so perhaps unique in dwarven history, a few more didn't interest him. Now bring him a rare scroll, or an ancient tome on Numenorian history? Then you might walk away with jewelry at a bargain.

The dwarf at the table was Vidar, one of the dwarves who had come with Dain from the Iron Hills. Vidar had done well for himself since his arrival, focusing on weapons sales in return for food from the south. Dwarven armor was in particular demand, and with his connections in both the Iron Hills and Erebor, he was supplying food to both dwarven kingdoms and making a tidy profit at the same time. The human with him was Lifstan, a merchant from Laketown and as wealthy a lakeman as there was. He had recently stepped down as a council member, but was still influential. Earendil only knew him by reputation, a man who trafficked merchandise, a trader who moved northern goods south and brought southern goods back to The Long Lake. He had never found reason to talk to him, however. The girl was his daughter, he thought, and if her attention span was an indication, she seemed unlikely to be assuming her father's position any time soon.

With a stack of plates and mugs in each hand, he headed back towards the kitchen. His mother was there, dressed in basic work attire, her veil a simple white today with a headband of red to help hold it in place. Elsa, a young girl who helped with serving the patrons midday was also in the kitchen, her eyes darting up as Earendil entered, as was a dwarf named Kona, who helped with the cooking.

"I hope you ladies are having a fine day," Earendil said, unloading plates, bowls and cutlery on to a bench next to the wash basin.

Elsa beamed broadly at the big lad. "It's good to see you home safe," she replied in her high pitched voice, wiping plates down with a towel and stacking them neatly in front of her. "I heard from your mother that you were involved in some nastiness a few days back."

Earendil smiled at his mother, who had no doubt overplayed his role dramatically. "I can assure you I was in no danger, but the skills my mother taught me were welcome after the scuffle ended."

"Scuffle?" Kona had just finished scrubbing the lunchtime pots and had sat down on a tall chair at the kitchen table, ale in hand. Wiping some foam from a closely trimmed red beard, the dwarf continued. "I heard those were orcs, not some shriveled up tunnel goblin. Orcs are the tough ones, particularly at night."

There were aspects of Kona that many men would overlook. A voice whose tone seemed less guttural, a beard that was kept trimmed just a few inches from the chin, and a form that was slightly rounder at the hip than one would expect. Kona was the reason the food was so popular, and although Tindomial knew more than most when it came to brewing, Kona had added touches to his mother's process that had turned her already strong dwarven brew into a drink that brought thirsty dwarves down from Erebor every night.

Kona was also a girl. Or a woman?

Or a she-dwarf?

Earendil wasn't sure about the nomenclature, but she was female, and that meant she was popular.

There was much about dwarves that remained a mystery, but chiefest amongst these mysteries were why female dwarves were hardly ever seen. Earendil had found out that they were rare. Only one child in ten was female., but he also got the feeling they almost never went out into the world, and so were often believed not to exist at all. Kona was one of the rare exceptions, and as she was also unwed, she received a lot of attention from the dwarven clientele when she went into the common room after completing her shift over the stove. This attention would almost always result in the suitor receiving a black eye or a knee in the groin, but as this was not necessarily an indication that Kona wasn't interested, the bruised fellow would be back in a few nights to try again. Dwarven courting was very difficult to follow, in fact Earendil wasn't sure even the dwarves understood it. It was however a very entertaining thing to watch on a Friday night after a few pints.

"To be truthful, Kona," Earendil replied in response to her comment about the orcs, "we hit them from behind and they didn't even see us coming."

Kona snorted approval through her beard. "Damn good thing. The faster you kill an orc the better. You got your fair share, I hope?"

The big lad shook his head. "Not a one."

Kona rolled her eyes while taking a deep swig. "You're too nice a boy," she said after a swallow, "but I'm sure you'll grow out of that."

Tindomial laughed and shook her head. "Let's hope not," she said. "There are men enough in Middle Earth to get all the killing done. We need a few more to patch up the holes they make."

Earendil smiled back at his mother.

"Hey, Tiny!"

A loud voice boomed in from the common room. Earendil closed his eyes in embarrassment for a moment. "I'll be back in a moment mother."

Heading back through the kitchen door, he saw a thin lad of about his age standing in the main entrance. A pair of soldiers in the livery of Dale had moved past him and into the room. They were looking about as if sizing up the place.

"Do you have to call me that, Bain?" His friend Bain found the name amusing, but Earendil didn't share his friend's sense of humor in this area.

The new arrival flashed a wide smile, and jogging across the polished floor, grabbed Earendil's hand firmly while pounding him on the shoulder. "I don't see why I shouldn't," he replied. "It's always good for a laugh."

Bain was one who enjoyed a good laugh, and a good time, and a good drink. He was tall, at least when not standing next to Earendil, also slim and athletic. His face was thin, with brown eyes and dark, curly hair. Beyond this he had a quick mind, a bright smile, and a way about him that allowed him to talk nearly anyone into doing nearly anything. This skill had led to a few difficulties in Earendil's own life, the incident regarding the stockings at the bordello a year ago foremost amongst those. He was considered a good looking lad, and very popular with the girls. Furthermore, he had recently become the Crown Prince of Dale, a piece of luck that had made him damn near irresistible.

"Had to come see you, Tiny," Bain continued, seemingly unaware of Earendil's pained expression. "I overheard my father talking about you and the guard tangling with those orcs in the south." With this he jumped backwards and began pantomiming swordplay. "Damn you, you big troll. You always get the breaks."

"I'd hardly call battling with orcs in the middle of the night a break," Earendil scolded, although he couldn't help but smile a bit at his friend's antics.

Bain waved his hands about dismissively. "Nonsense! You went through them like shite through a duck. Not a single casualty."

At this, Earendil fixed his friend with a serious glare. "Unfortunately there were many casualties, elves I came too late to save. They just weren't men of Dale."

At this, Bain's jumping about stopped. "I'm sorry 'Dil," he said. "I wasn't thinking along those lines."

Earendil shook his head. "It's fine. Truthfully, things went as well as we could have hoped."

Bain smiled again. "Well than, you must tell me about it. Elsa?"

Earendil hadn't noticed, but Elsa had been watching through a half opened kitchen door. As usual when she was watching Bain, she was wide eyed and slack jawed.

"Bring me and Tiny here some of Kona's fried potatoes and a bowl of rabbit." Looking to the two guards, who had settled on opposite sides of the room, Bain added, "would you two like some potatoes as well?"

"We are supposed to be guarding you, your highness," said the guard to Bain's right.

"Bah! I'm supposed to be studying the history of the dwarves in the Grey Mountains," Bain replied. "Two more plates for these fine fellows please Elsa."

"I'm done cooking for the afternoon," came Kona's voice from inside the kitchen. "If you want something to eat it'll be cold."

Bain smiled. "Ah Kona," he yelled back into the kitchen, "even cold your food warms a man as much as your beard would if you kissed him."

Earendil heard Kona splutter and imagined her ale had gone down the wrong way.

"I'd sooner put my boot up your princely arse," Kona roared back through the kitchen door. It was an angry response, but Earendil could almost hear the smile from the other room.

Bain sighed loudly. "Would that you could, my Lady. But perhaps you should get permission from my father before you remove my my britches?" Bain winked to Earendil before adding. "While we wait for my father's blessing, maybe we could have four plates of potatoes and rabbit? And beer," he added as an afterthought. "Too early for ale, but beer for us all."

"Now," said the young prince, "tell me about what happened."

Earendil obliged, beginning with the meeting between Bain's father and the Master of Laketown and giving a particularly vivid account of the battle on the hill. Bain seemed particularly interested in Earendil's description of Bellamdir, commenting that he had found elves to be a rather serious bunch and that it was good to hear of a light hearted elf.

Earendil nodded in agreement to this. "In general, they do seem a stern bunch, but there are a couple that are anything but, once you spend time with them."

Bain raised an eyebrow. "As I don't consider Bellamdir alone to be a couple, I suppose there is another elf you spent time with?"

Chastising himself for failing to remember how attentive Bain could be, Earendil began to formulate a way to not discuss Galadwen with his friend, when fortunately he was saved by the arrival of beer and potatoes. Elsa placed a pint in front of each of them, but surprisingly it was Kona that brought the plates. She placed one in front of Earendil, and then handed the other to Bain.

Leaning in closer to the young prince, a hand disappeared under the table. "You're damn lucky I'm not looking for a mate, young princeling," she whispered. "Otherwise, I'd take a boy to my chambers and you'd be a man when you left in the morning." Bain jumped a bit, and Kona added, "assuming you had the stamina to make it through the night."

For a moment Earendil wondered where Kona's hand had gotten to, but the sly smile never left the prince's face. "It is a challenge I would gladly accept, my lady," Bain replied smoothly. Then, reaching forward and tugging gently on Kona's beard he added, "I've always had a thing for a woman with red hair."

Kona laughed softly, then smiling politely at the curious stares of the two guards, she returned to the kitchen.

Winking quickly at Earendil, Bain began shoveling food into his mouth.

"By the light," Earendil gasped, "what was that?"

"I don't think the light had much to do with it," Bain responded through a mouthful of potatoes. "As for what it was? That was a dwarven woman letting a male know he's in for a long night and sore morning if he keeps talking to her that way."

Earendil shook his head. "She said she'd bed you, and reached under the table…" here the large boy seemed unwilling to elaborate, but Bain filled in the details

"... and grabbed the crown jewels of Dale."

"Wow." It wasn't a very eloquent response, but Earendil couldn't think of anything else in that moment.

Bain laughed. "Don't worry yourself 'Dil. Kona is a nice woman, and certainly a lot more than I could handle." Bain followed up a large mouthful of rabbit with a pour from his tankard. "I may be young, but I know my limitations. Anyway, my father certainly wants to continue the line, and I fear the beard would be a bit off-putting once we actually arrived at the act."

Earendil slapped his palm onto his face, trying to remove that thought from his mind.

"I tell you what," said Bain, "you want me to forget Kona? Help me meet that girl at the other table."

Earendil looked over his shoulder and saw the daughter of the wealthy lakeman eyeing the young prince with a curious look.

"I honestly don't know anything about her," Earendil admitted.

Bain shrugged. "It's my job to get to know her, you just need to get her away from the dwarf and the old man."

Earendil scratched his head. It was clear the girl was not involved in the business discussion, and her father looked annoyed at her inattention. Rising from his meal, he walked over to the table and smiled at Vidar and Lifstan.

"I hope you are well Vidar," he said, speaking to the dwarf whom he knew fairly well. "Your mug looks empty. More ale?"

Vidar looked up at the big lad and smiled. "You know a dwarf can never turn down ale, my boy."

"May I refresh your mug, master Lifstan?" Earendil asked.

The lakeman didn't look up, but placed a hand over his mug. "I think it unwise for me to attempt to keep up with master Vidar," he replied in a gruff voice.

"An ale for master Vidar then," Earendil said, looking at the girl and smiling. "I have been invited to play a round of darts with my friend there at the other table, but I'm afraid my duties here preclude me from accepting. I was wondering if your daughter would be interested in taking my place?"

At this Lifstan did look up, his face angry. "I don't think it's appropriate…"

"Prince Bain is very accomplished at darts, I have heard," Vidar cut in.

The lakeman stopped talking abruptly. "Prince?"

Vidar rocked his head back and forth, subtly pointing out the two guards whose presence Lifstan seemed to have missed. The girl's eyes lit up noticeably at the news.

Earendil smiled. "I am sure the prince would not take undue advantage of your daughter, master Lifstan."

Lifstan raised his eyebrows, and looked to his daughter. "Estrid, it seems the.."

"I would love to," Estrid blurted out, leaping to her feet and rushing across the room to Bain's table without so much as a nod to her father or Vidar.

Earendil shook his head. "It was all too easy for his friend", he thought. Women falling at Bain's feet, and the only girl he had ever had feelings for was unobtainable. He exhaled deeply.

"I will get you your ale, master dwarf".


	11. Memories of Smaug

Leindir turned and putting his hands in the rail, looked eastwards at the spreading dawn. It was going to be a warm day with high wispy clouds, clouds currently streaked in the brilliant orange of the rising sun.

"Your strengths," he began, "are most evident in your knowledge of languages and in more classical areas of study, such as mathematics and poetry." At this he shook his head. "Of course those skills would put you well within the sphere of my wife, and we both know that is now out of the question." At this, he glanced quickly towards the young maid hoping she would re-open the possibility of working with Lady Arawel. Her skill set and upbringing were most suited to diplomacy, but Galadwen made sure her face remained stoic, and she said nothing.

The commander sighed quietly "So much for that hope," he thought, realizing Galadwen didn't even consider his unspoken suggestion worthy of response. Putting this aside, he looked out over the water, and plowed on. "Still, you have shown flashes of courage and determination since we began this trip, and I don't simply mean your taking up arms at the barricade on the third night." Now he turned and looked at her openly. "You are far from home for the first time, and your superior clearly mistreated you. Now, as I wish to speak truthfully, your running from the tent in a fit of tears was not a good start when it came to handling that issue."

At this Galadwen reddened slightly, but remained silent, listening.

"But when you'd regained your composure, you reacted with strength. It is hard to leave the only task you feel qualified for, knowing you are hundreds of leagues from home, and in defiance of your superior choose the difficult path in order to maintain your honor." Leindir looked deeply at the girl now. "But you did just that. Fortunately," Leindir continued, "I am not the only one who has noted your determination. Sergeant Borlas has offered to train you in the forms and in the use of the bow. I believe he plans to make you a spearmaiden, although your precise assignment has yet to be determined".

Galadwen was shocked. "I have never considered myself a warrior, commander," she replied frankly.

Leindir smiled. He to admit she didn't look the part either. She was shorter than most elven women and slight of build, with the exception, as his wife had unfortunately noted, of her "spectacular" bosom. Her hair was always combed perfectly and was a golden color similar to that of Lady Galadriel. She lacked the muscular, lean quality of a soldier, although he was sure that would come with training.

"Perhaps that is so," Leindir conceded, pushing all thoughts of bosoms from his mind. "But you have one more kill to your name than nine of ten women in Lothlórien, so to my mind you are a warrior already." Leindir was happy to see Galadwen smile at this, and even draw herself up, standing a little straighter. Seeing this, he placed his hand reassuringly on her shoulder. "Truth be told, both the sergeant and I have another reason for wanting you with the military contingent."

Galadwen raised her eyebrows. "I'm sure I would be interested to hear your intentions, commander.."

"We will be here for many months," he began. "At least until early autumn. During that time my wife will be busy with trade negotiations, and other political or diplomatic issues." Squinting in the newly risen sun, Leindir took Galadwen by the arm and walked with her towards the far rail. With the sun out of their eyes, he continued. "In the meantime, we soldiers will do as we always do, train and prepare. But I've also been asked to try and forge a working relationship between the dwarven, human and elven forces."

Leindir grimaced slightly before continuing. "Soldiers spend our lives with the members of our unit, and have a natural distrust for those outside that group. Borlas and I believe you would be able to help us move past this distrust. You speak strong Westeron, and in South End I saw you demonstrate an affinity in dealing with those from outside your culture."

Again Galadwen blushed. And looked downwards into the water.

Leindir saw what she was thinking, and spoke to reassure her. "Those people may have been in awe of the first golden haired elf they ever met," he said, "but you earned their affection not because of your pretty hair or beautifully delicate ears."

At this Galadwen smiled and laughed quietly.

"You earned it because you showed genuine sympathy and caring for their situation." Leindir paused before continuing, considering his next words. "I am ashamed to tell you this, but although I was sympathetic to the plight of those families, I would not have taken up their cause as you did."

Galadwen looked up quickly. "You are a good man, commander," she said earnestly.

Leindir shrugged. "I am a good soldier, Galadwen, and have seen more pain and destruction through my centuries than you can imagine. It pains me to say this, but South End was simply another drop in an ocean of suffering I have seen wash over the people of Middle Earth. I would not have stopped to help them, believing that my assistance would mean nothing in the grand scheme of things."

"You believe they have no hope?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

Leindir shook his head. "I believe that you have brought them hope, and that is far more than I could have brought them," he responded, smiling down at the girl standing next to him. "I believe you make remember my youth again, and I believe that you will find a way to repay those villager's trust in you." Then he laughed. "And I believe that you should tell cold hearted old fools like me, and "the grand scheme of things", to go straight to the bloody void."

At this Galadwen burst into a bright smile and they laughed together for a bit.

"Anyhow, before I was interrupted by silly thoughts of hope, both I and sergeant Borlas believe you will be able to find some common ground between dwarf, man and elf."

Galadwen looked uncertain, so he added. "This will be made easier once you are under arms. It will give you kinship with other warriors, regardless of their race." Leindir then looked warmly at Galadwen. "You have a natural ability to win folks over, young lady."

Galadwen smiled and nodded. "I am touched by your trust commander, and am not sure I have many alternatives given my current position."

Leindir was about to further reassure the girl, when a dark sight caught his eye. Tapping Galadwen on the arm, he pointed and heard a soft gasp of shock in response. It was an emotion he was feeling himself. He was looking at a shattered city only a few hundred paces from the port side of the ship. Parts of it still stood, abandoned homes and buildings with empty, black windows, but a great portion of the city had collapsed, a fire ravaged ruin being slowly reclaimed by the lake. Smaug had clearly fallen on the northern section of the town, for here even the broad, powerful beams that had once lifted Laketown above the water were shattered. Of the remainder of old Esgaroth, it was mostly a charred and splintered ruin, and the knowledge that the great wyrm lay just out of sight below the nearby water was causing his heart to race, sending chills through his body. Looking at Galadwen he saw her face pale in the half light of early morning.

"You feel it too?" He asked in a whisper.

Her eyes were large and her hands trembled slightly as they gripped the rail. "Yes," her voice was thin and barely audible.

Leindir has heard of this effect before. It was known as dragon fear, and it would clutch at the heart of even the bravest. Elves were said to be affected less, and as he looked about the ship he noticed that none of the human crew were looking westward, instead standing with their heads down, or staring towards the rising sun. "And all this terror from a beast that has been dead these many years", he thought. Smaug as a living creature must have been truly a nightmare to behold. But then he saw Galadwen's face brighten, and a slight smile appear.

She was looking past him to the north, and turning Leindir saw the new city of Esgaroth, now less than a league distant. It was a marvel of wooden spires and many windowed buildings, surrounded by broad decks and set on a forest of stout wooden piers sprouting from the cold water of Long Lake. In the light of dawn, it was breathtaking. The buildings were of a dark wood, perhaps maple, and had been polished or lacquered so that they shone with a deep internal light. Even at this distance it was obvious that the grain of the wood was highlighted, making the effect even more striking. The rails along the decks and balconies, together with many of the window and door frames, were of ash, or perhaps another light colored wood. The contrast was beautiful and if possible, brought out the deep tone of the darker wood even more. It seemed roughly circular and was much larger than Leindir had imagined.

Just visible on the far side he could see a bridge connecting Laketown to the shore. There were five spans with stout sets of piers forming low towers that supported each section. The span closest to the city was held up using a series of ropes, and together they crossed more than 1000 paces of water placing the entire city out of range of nearly any weapon, unassailable unless the enemy brought barges.

The longship was past the ruined city now and turning slightly to port, it's bow pointing towards a dark gap in the southern edge of the city. Orders were yelled, and the crew began rushing about the deck. Wooden mallets were brought out, and using these several pins at the base of the mast were removed. Then, to the rhythm of a deep, rhythmic chant, the mast was lifted from it's socket and guided with ropes and pulleys down to the deck so that within minutes it was bound securely into place, fitting neatly between the bow and stern lengthwise down the center of the deck.

Someone grasped his left arm, and Leindir jumped.

"I am sorry to startle you dearest." It was his wife who was now standing between him and Galadwen, having apparently given up on getting some rest. "I tried to calm my mind, but dark thoughts kept creeping in."

"Smaug haunts even the sleeping," Leindir thought, but said instead. "We are just twenty minutes from arriving, my lady. You would have had to rise soon at any rate. Esgaroth is an impressive sight, is it not?"

Arawel looked and then nodded. "My preference is towards living wood, but if you must chop it down, it is well that they made something this beautiful from it."

Having heard this, Galadwen responded. "I don't disagree, Lady Arawel, but have always believed that much of the beauty of a tree lies in what skilled hands can craft from it. Much in the way a dwarf takes a dull, red rock and by cutting, brings out the fire of the ruby within."

His wife took this in, but didn't seem impressed. "Perhaps," she replied without enthusiasm.

They were closer now, and Laketown was beginning to loom over them. Leindir hadn't noticed before, but each of the buildings seemed to have several floors, and doing the math in his head, he decided he would have to reassess the population numbers he had been given before leaving Lorien. It would seem that humans had flocked to this new city on the lake.

"My lady?" It was Galadwen again. "The commander has presented me with an opportunity to continue to serve our mission here," with this the girl looked to Leindir, "and having given it some thought, I have decided to accept his offer."

Leindir smiled inside. That was good news.

"As it appears my free time will soon be in short supply, I was wondering if I might ask you a question of a rather personal nature?"

His moment of pleasure danced away. He wasn't at all sure he liked the sound of this.

"If you do not wish to discuss it," Galadwen continued, "I will completely understand. It does have to do with the… discussion," Galadwen paused to consider this word before using it, "that occurred between us two nights ago in your tent."

Hearing this, Leindir stepped in. "We have moved past that Galadwen," he said firmly. "I don't think…"

Placing a hand on her husband's arm, Arawel stopped him. "I agree dear. It's an unusual request, and I had hoped we had put this behind us."

Galadwen dropped her eyes, ashamed. "I am sorry, lady Arawel. I ask because your treatment of me that evening was so unlike the woman I thought I knew, the woman I saw the second night on the hill."

Arawel raised an eyebrow. "And what did you see on the hill?"

Galadwen lifted her eyes and met the woman's gaze. "You did not notice me, but I was standing at the base of the watch tower. I saw a woman who had just been told by her husband that he would die the next evening."

Leindir saw some tears in Galadwen's eyes, but they didn't fall.

"I saw a woman who thought she was going to lose the man she has loved through 3000 years of her life, but who never let this fear show so that others could hold out hope". Then Galadwen looked directly into Arawel's face and Leindir saw anger.

Or perhaps disappointment?

"I saw a strong woman, not a insecure drunk who belittles her subordinates because she thinks they flirted inappropriately with a boy." At this Galadwen sucked in her breath. "I apologize lady Arawel. I took that too far."

Arawel was silent for a moment. "No. You are right, although it shocks me to hear it from you." Arawel sighed deeply. "Some time ago, when we embraced, you said you forgave me for my words. Do you still feel that way?"

Galadwen gave a small nod. "Yes."

Arawel pursed her lips thoughtfully. "You are a good woman, young Galadwen, to forgive a person for something when they offer no explanation as to what caused it." Turning to the rail, she lowered her voice slightly. "I wish to tell you a story."

Galadwen said nothing, but turning to stand beside the older elf, she listened.

"About 150 years ago our Lady left Lothlórien for a meeting of the White Council in Rivendell. She asked that I make such decisions as should arise in her absence." Arawel smiled slightly at this, perhaps remembering the honor. "But," she went on, "there were no threats to Lothlórien back in those days..."

At this, Leindir thought he saw a flicker cross Galadwen's face, but she said nothing and his wife continued.

"...So it seemed there would be little that would need concern me. However several weeks after Galadriel's departure, scouts came to me from the borders of our land nearest the Misty Mountains. They said that a pair of rough looking dwarves were demanding to meet with our Lady and were refusing to leave." Arawel paused, thinking about her next words. "Thinking it best I see this pair for myself, I traveled to the edge of Lothlórien, and there I saw two of the most run down figures I have ever laid eyes upon. By the loose fit of their clothes I could tell they had not eaten well in quite a while, and by other means I could tell they had not bathed in quite a while either."

At this Galadwen briefly laughed, but seeing Arawel's stern face, she stifled this quickly and the story continued.

"So, you can imagine my surprise when one of these two vagrants announced himself to be Thror, son of Dain…"

"King Under the Mountain," Galadwen finished.

Arawel nodded. "It seems you have a strong grasp of history," she said, sounding impressed.

Leindir cut in. "I was there, and there was nothing that authenticated who he was."

Nodding her head in agreement, Arawel concurred. "That is true. But had Lady Galadriel been there she would have seen the truth in what he said."

Galadwen gasped. "So he was Thror?"

"He was," Arawel replied. "But much to my shame, I failed to see this."

Leindir opened his mouth to speak, but Arawel interrupted. "We have discussed this for fifteen decades dearest, and I know your opinion. Allow me to finish the story for the young one."

Leindir closed his mouth again, and the story moved forward.

"Thror asked for aid in reclaiming what he said was his birthright, the greatest of dwarven kingdoms, Khazad-dum. As you know it lies just a few leagues from our north western border, but had been overrun long before by innumerable goblins of all breeds."

"And Durin's Bane," Galadwen whispered.

Arawel was silent for a moment. "If the rumors are to be believed, yes child. So you can see, aiding this bedraggled stranger was out of the question, even if I had believed he was who he claimed. And yet, the tragedy of my failure to see this truth and find another answer is almost beyond measure." At this, Arawel dropped her head lower and rubbed the bridge of her nose as if the memory of this failure gave her pain. "Thror entered Moria alone. His friend, an unfortunate fellow named Nar, was too terrified to follow and waited for days on the doorstep until finally, the decapitated corpse of his king was hurled from the gate. A voice from inside called out that he was the true King of Moria, and that if the poor Nar wanted to know his name, he could see it on the face of Thror."

Arawel took a deep breath before continuing. "With this, Thror's head was thrown at Nar, and branded across his forehead was the name, Azog. Nar took this news back to Thror's son Thráin, who responded by calling all the dwarves of Middle Earth to rally to him for a war of vengeance. All six of the other dwarven houses responded to this call, leading to six years of bloody war in which thousands of dwarves perished. The final battle, perhaps the only one fought above ground, took place just outside Lorien in the valley of Azanulbizar on the doorstep of Khazad-dum. Here a huge multitude of goblins of all sizes spilled forth and the battle was bloody in the extreme. As many dwarves died on that one field as had perished in the six previous years, but at its end, Azog was dead, slain by the axe of Dáin Ironfoot."

"The current King Of Erebor?" Galadwen asked.

Arawel nodded. "The very same."

"Although Thrain demanded it, he other houses refused to enter and reclaim Khazad-dum, thus ensuring that Moria remained in orc hands. The great slaughter of the goblins of the Misty Mountains did lead to a long period of peace for the region. however I still can't help but feel I should have found a way to prevent this horrific loss of dwarven life". With this, Arawel shook her head as if clearing a terrible picture from her mind.

"And so we come to how this pertains to my deplorable treatment of you. This mission is my first since that terrible day a century and a half ago. Once again my actions will either benefit or harm the dwarves, and more specifically, the descendants of Thror. When I found that my orders to Bellamdir had allowed the Master of Laketown to place Lothlórien in a position that would benefit him over a man I know is beloved by Dáin Ironfoot, and more importantly, was willing to aid us without promise of reward at the time we most needed it, I am ashamed to say I became despondent. All I could see was my failure repeating itself." Here Arawel became even quieter as if putting voice to this hurt her physically. "My drinking did not help matters, and I took it out on you as you were an easy target."

Inhaling deeply, Arawel straightened herself and turned to Galadwen. "So that is the shameful truth. There is no justification within this tale for what I did to you, but it is the reason."

Galadwen was still for a moment, and then smiled. "Thank you Lady Arawel for trusting me with what is clearly a painful memory for you." Looking towards the quickly approaching city, Galadwen tried to change the subject. "It seems we are almost here."

Leindir nodded silently in approval. Galadwen had simply moved on, telling his wife without words that the issue between them was over. Looking towards Esgaroth, he could see now that the longship was heading for an opening that passed under the outermost edge of the city. Here it entered a type of tunnel, formed by buildings closing in over the channel. It seemed to the soldier that the passage was not wide enough for the vessel, certainly too narrow if one took into account the oars. Still, the longship plowed on, and rather than slowing, the pace of the rower's strokes seemed to be increasing. Each time the oars entered the water the ship would leap forward, a motion that left Leindir unsteady on his feet. With the opening less than one hundred strides from the prow, the ship was moving forward at a tremendous pace, and having just completed a shallow turn to starboard, was hurtling directly into the opening.

"I certainly hope they know what they're doing," whispered Arawel into his ear, and Leindir agreed.

With just paces until they entered the tunnel, a command rang out from the bow. "Oars…..In".

The word "in" sounded just as the oars entered the water, and as they completed that last stroke, they slid smoothly inward until only their blades remained visible. At almost that instant the morning light disappeared and the ship slid quietly into the darkness. Between the oar blades and the wall there was barely enough space for a man to walk and the speed of the ship was beginning to wane, but still they passed rapidly through the passage, and after nearly a minute, Leindir could see the light of an opening approaching.

They left the darkness of the channel and slid out into the shadowed waters of what was almost a lagoon. It was surrounded in all sides by wide decks that stood a fathom or so above the water each leading to broad stairs upwards. At their tops were wide decks, beyond which loomed the facades of beautifully made buildings. Every open space around the pool was crowded with faces, and as the longship appeared a roar went up and a band, dominated by very shrill horns, began playing a marching tune.

Leindir and Arawel looked at each other. "Perhaps we were expected?" Leindir said nonchalantly, which brought a smile to his wife's face.

The oars to starboard extended and dropped into the water, turning the longship sharply to the right and slowing it dramatically. Ropes were thrown from the dock, and within moments the ship was secured and a gangplank connected to the dock near the prow. Looking about, Leindir noted two other ships moored at other locations in this watery town square. The first was a mirror of the one they were on, but the second was somewhat smaller. Beautifully painted in black with silver highlights, it's prow was fashioned into the head of a dragon, and from its stern hung a pennant. This was emblazoned with a silver tower, a black arrow running its length vertically.

Turning to his wife, he said. "King Bard may be here."

"He is," she replied, nodding in the direction of a group of dignitaries standing on the dock twenty paces or so from the gangplank.

Leindir assumed the man standing on the left was Bard. Taller than the others, he wore black clothing with a silver tabard bearing the same emblem as the pennant on the ship. To his left and a pace to his rear stood a pair of dwarves, both richly dressed in red and one wearing a thick gold chain around his neck.

To the right stood a cluster of seven men, all wearing heavy, elaborately embroidered coats in blue and maroon over tight, white leggings. Cuffs and collars featured fur, and the entire effect made Leindir think they looked... well... hot. In the middle of this group was a distinctly rotund man, similar in dress but wearing a heavy silver chain bearing a golden seal.

"That must be the Master of Esgaroth," Leindir assumed.

Leindir believed that first impressions were important, and looking at the Master, Leindir got the impression that he wasn't happy.


	12. Blood and Gold

Ranulf didn't look happy, and if you had spent any time around the Master of Esgaroth he was not a hard man to read. He was a bright fellow, good with numbers and had an eye for a bargain. However, he always clasped his hands in front of him when displeased, as if they had to be physically restrained, and his lips got dry when he thought things were getting out of control. Holgier had known Master Ranulf for years having been his security adviser since the balding politician had become wealthy enough to need one. It looked to him like Ranulf was about to pull his own right hand off, and if he tongued his lips one more time he would catch a fly.

Holgier had arrived late, and by the time he slid his thin form into the open spot several steps behind the master, the longship had already begun to tie up at the dock. Of course the reason for Ranulf's anger was obvious, and standing ten paces to his right. King Bard of Dale had arrived unannounced the evening before, about the time the party from Lothlorien had been due to arrive. The master had only learned of the king's arrival as his longship had docked, and had to extricate himself from beneath a pair of very attractive, and very expensive, young ladies in order to greet the dignitaries. These two factors had been aggravating enough to the portly ruler of Laketown, but the king had also brought an emissary from Erebor, and furthermore, Bard had the temerity to chastise the master when he commented on the unscheduled visit.

"Good Ranulf..." Bard had begun. Bard's use of the master's name rather than his title rankled his employer considerably. Ranulf had been in charge of the Laketown military when Bard was only a low level officer, and the familiarity of using his name was a reminder how far the former soldier had risen. "Good Ranulf. We discussed this several nights ago." Bard was using the same tone a patient mother would use with a petulant child. "I said we would continue the trade discussions once the contingent from Lothlorien was safe in Laketown, and you accepted that proposal."

Ranulf had spluttered a bit, looking around for his scribe who had made a record of that evening's conversation. The scribe was behind a pair of heavyset guards trying desperately not to be seen, but Holgier didn't need reminding. That was pretty much exactly what Bard had said, and Ranulf had just waved a hand at him dismissively.

What interested him more was how the news had reached Dale so quickly. The news concerning the engagement on the hill had only reached Laketown in the mid afternoon, just hours before the King had arrived. That meant that Bard had learned of the success of the relief mission many hours earlier, dawn at the latest. The troops sent by Bard had taken no mounts, and from all the questions Holgier had asked, no couriers had been spotted moving north the prior day.

Well, that was a mystery for another time. The security chief turned his thin face and scanned the crowd with his one good eye. He had lost the left eye when he had been stuck by the handle of a soup spoon during a drunken brawl in a shabby alehouse. That had happened two decades earlier in some shite hole named Bree, but it was not the type of tale you made public. The story in Esgaroth was that he had lost it during a military action against the orcs of the Grey Mountains, a tale he had personally crafted, and tended to himself.

There were four of his security detail in the crowd, spread out around the central pool. Usually they were kept closer in case anyone got it into their head to settle an old score. Ranulf, as with all long time politicians in Laketown, had his fair share of enemies. Today however they were in the crowd to listen in on conversations, and to get the feel of the town's reaction to these new, and rather exotic visitors.

Scratching the black stubble on his chin, he looked back towards the longship. The gangplank was in place and the first dignitaries stepping off, led by a woman in an exquisite blue dress. She was escorted by a thin man in a golden tabard hung over fine mail, and together they stepped onto the pier. The male was a pace behind the woman, but holding her elbow in a familiar way, so she was the ambassador, escorted by her husband or lover.

That awful band the council always hired for situations like this was screeching in the background, and Ranulf was moving forward with his hands extended to meet the couple as they crossed the deck. There were a few other elves on board, but it seemed that nearly all of them had come in the smaller boats, arriving through the night and into the early morning. He spotted Belem still on the longship, so that accounted for one of the missing Dalemen, but that mountainous oaf of a boy wasn't with him. He hadn't arrived in the smaller craft either, and none of the boatmen could recall seeing since the previous day. Although the lad was the only member of the Dale guard missing, it still didn't explain how they had gotten their message back to Bard. Furthermore, a boy the size of a troll riding a horse hadn't been spotted on either the west or east roads. Holgier decided to consider this more later.

Half a dozen other elves, all bearing spears or swords, were now disembarking. A bodyguard for the ambassador it seemed. She was now talking to Ranulf, their posture and expressions indicating friendly banter. The plump leader of Laketown was guiding the couple towards the other members of the council, pointing and introducing them one by one. Holgier watched Bard with curiosity. He was not trying to cut in, and was calmly waiting for the council introductions to be complete. His hands were folded in front of him, his face relaxed, watching the proceedings with interest.

On the ship two elves were still waiting to cross the gangplank. One stood out immediately. Even at a distance she was clearly beautiful, curvaceous with strikingly golden hair. She was talking to another, slightly taller elf maiden standing just to her left.

"Not very tall", he thought, "and plainly dressed, but with an attendant?" Odd that she wouldn't join the others as they were introduced. Another mystery he would have to sort out.

Looking back towards the arriving guests he noticed the ambassador had approached Bard. She had curtsied when introduced, and her companion had bowed to the King. This, he noted, they hadn't done for Ranulf who's hands were now clasped firmly in front of him. Things were not going well for the master although, as he had really sent the elves no help, it was difficult to imagine it could have turned out differently.

Ranulf was motioning forward several attendants now whose job it was to guide the visitors through the crowd to nearby guest residences. There was a reception scheduled between the delegation, the council and invited guests set for the early evening, but in the meantime they could clean up and rest. Holgier was relieved the master had dispensed with his usual speeches, and flicked his eyes back to the golden haired girl and her attendant.

They had finally disembarked and were the last passengers to leave the pier. Here they were met by Belem, and the two girls hugged before the dark haired one followed the rest of the retinue into nearby lodgings. Maybe not an attendant then. He couldn't imagine a lady hugging her handmaid in public. Holgier then watched as the golden haired woman moved off through the crowd, led by Belem. There was a story behind that somewhere. He made a few discreet hand gestures, and received answering gestures from a man in the crowd, the stout fellow falling in behind Belem and the elf maid. It would be interesting to see what she was doing with the Captain of the Guard of Dale, but in the meantime he would have to talk to the crewmen on the longship. In less than an hour he would be expected in the master's office, and undoubtedly the man would have questions.

It was just two hours after dawn when Holgier knocked on the ornate wooden door that led into master Ranulf's private apartment. There was a pause, during which he knew he was being watched through a hidden peep hole, and then the loud click as a heavy lock was turned. The door swung open slowly and he was ushered inside by a hawk nosed woman that managed the master's calendar, keeping undesirables from interfering with Ranulf's schedule. Her name was Hulda, which roughly translated into "lovable". It was not the first word that leapt to mind when he saw her, and her personality had not altered this opinion, but parents can't be blamed for being optimistic.

"Sit", Hulda snapped, pointing briefly to a red cushioned chair along a wall. "The master is in conference and your meeting isn't scheduled for another seven minutes." Hulda made this timing error sound like a personal assault, but Holgier simply smiled politely and took a seat.

This was the waiting area, a modest sized room with bookshelves lining the walls and places to sit for about half a dozen. Opposite to his seat was a sturdy wooden desk, papers neatly arranged into stacks with quills and ink close at hand. To the right of this, along the wall opposite the one through which he entered, was another pair of heavy doors, these with the seal of Laketown carved across them both. Behind these doors was the office of the master, elected leader of Esgaroth, and beyond that office his personal quarters.

After a few minutes these doors swung inwards and a tiny man with a deeply receding hairline stepped out, papers clutched haphazardly in his arms. This fellow handled Ranulf's personal finances, which Holgier knew meant he was a talented skimmer, taking a small percentage of nearly everything Esgaroth financed and seeing that it ended up in the master's vaults. Skilled at this, he hid the embezzlement as cost overruns or fees, not that every member of the council didn't do the same thing. Ranulf was standing in the doorway. "Double check those figures from Hookley," he called after the harried looking accountant. Then, seeing Holgier, he beckoned him inside. "Get in here."

Holgier rose and smiling once more at the scowling Hulda, walked through the doors into Ranulf's office. The far wall was entirely given over to windows, and as it was a pleasant late spring morning, the drapes were tied back and the shutters open, letting in the sounds of a bustling city. Beyond the wide, third story balcony was the central square and Esgaroth, which was just reaching full speed with hundreds of people hustling by on their morning errands.

"Damn that Bard to the void and back," Ranulf cursed, walking behind a massive rose stained desk and dropping heavily into a plushly upholstered chair. "He was just a company captain five years ago, and now he expects to be called Your Highness."

Holgier stood in front of the desk, hands folded calmly behind his back. Truthfully, Bard didn't expect anything of the sort, although many did in fact call him that now. This was not a point worth debating with his employer however, so he remained quiet.

"He shows up here unannounced and invites himself to the arrival of those pointy eared Lothloriens", Ranulf continued. "I don't know why I put up with it."

Holgier did know why the master put up with it. It was the same reason the council had elected him on only the third ballot. He was smart enough, looked the part, and was easy to manipulate. The master disliked confrontation, but none of this had dawned on Ranulf.

Looking up at his security chief, Ranulf inhaled deeply. "So tell me how Bard knew when those elves were going to arrive."

Holgier didn't know, but he could hazard some guesses. "The only person unaccounted for after the arrival of the longship was Earendil," he explained.

"That massive, silver haired lad? Tindomial's brat?"

Holgier nodded. "Yes sir."

"He must have ridden north with the news," Ranulf surmised.

Holgier knew he hadn't. "That is a possibility, my lord. However the boy is of such a size that he would require a war horse to carry him, and to the best of our knowledge there were no warhorses in the boats that carried the guard south."

Holgier's face remained passive as the master looked up, suspecting he was being made fun of. Seeing no reaction, Ranulf moved on. "There was no report of him moving north over the past few days?"

The thin security chief shook his head. "The boy was not seen by any of our men after the afternoon of two days ago." Holgier did some calculations in his head, confirming what he had already concluded some time before. "By foot the trip would take all of two days walking from dusk 'til dawn. He must have taken the east road, or our patrols would have encountered him, and with the condition of that road being what it is, I would imagine he will be arriving in Dale this afternoon."

"So how did the news get to Bard?"

"We are still looking into that, my lord," Holgier conceded. "It is possible that the stories of the ravens of the Lonely Mountain have some element of truth in them."

"Bah!" The Master exhaled sharply at this. "Men do not talk to birds."

"Not talk to them perhaps," the thin man agreed, "but if they have been trained and a trust cultivated, ravens could carry messages."

Ranulf seemed to mull this over. "Well, it's as good an explanation as we have for now, but I want this confirmed, Holgier." Reaching to his left, the master grabbed a mug of cooled water and took a draw. "What else do we know about our guests?"

"They seem a standard enough diplomatic delegation," Holgier began. "You met lady Arawel and lord Leindir. They are a couple, with Leindir the commander of the military component."

"Are they a threat?"

Ranulf often saw threats where there weren't any, but this foible of the master was one Holgier could understand. Politics in Esgaroth was a contact sport, and occasionally a blood sport. Ranulf had been playing the game for a long time, and paranoia was a healthy habit to have.

"No sir," Holgier responded plainly. "There were fifty soldiers when they left Lorien, but they have suffered loses due to the orc attack." He recalculated what he had been told before continuing. "Thirty three elves arrived by boat or longship, and of these eleven are still too wounded to be counted. They are a very capable unit, undoubtedly better than any outside of Erebor, but hardly a threat to us in a pitched fight."

This seemed to put Ranulf more at ease. "So it's only this Arawel I will have to worry about." The master seemed to be growing in confidence. "I have her by the short and curly's. She had to accept my conditions before aid was sent, so I don't see much she can do when we meet to finalise details over the next few days."

"Perhaps the master was right about Arawel", Holgier thought, "but…".

Ranulf saw the look in his security chief's eye. "What else is there Holgier?"

Holgier had thought this would come up. "Mostly rumors that I cannot confirm, my lord."

He knew of course how Ranulf would respond to this. In fact, he was counting on it. Ranulf pounced.

"What rumors? What have you heard that you are keeping from me?"

Holgier sighed. "There was one member of the contingent whose role I could not identify." There were ways he could tell Holgier about the golden haired girl, ways that wouldn't cause Ranulf to over react. Holgier had instead decided to let Ranulf's mind run amok.

"There is a woman in the group, rumored to be very young, although this is impossible to tell with elves, and of course relative considering their immort…"

The master interrupted impatiently. "Damn you Holgier, stop dithering and tell me what you've heard."

Holgier had to admit he had been dithering, albeit with purpose. "She has rather striking golden hair. You may not have noticed her as she remained on the longship as you were meeting lady Arawel."

Ranulf raised his eyebrows suspiciously at this but allowed Holgier to continue.

"When Arawel left the square, this woman left separately with Belem." Holgier nodded in response to Ranulf's unasked question. "Yes sir. He is the Captain of the Guard for Dale. I had them followed, and he took her out of the city to the barracks currently being used to house a majority of the troops from Dale and Lorien."

"She is a soldier of some sort?"

The thin man shrugged. "She doesn't have that bearing or that physique."

"What else?"

"I believe she spent a great deal of time in the pavilion shared by lady Arawel and commander Leindir, although this is only spoken of by one witness."

"So she's a handmaid or servant?"

"Perhaps, although I believe that position is taken by another elf woman who went with lady Arawel to the guest quarters."

Ranulf was beginning to look worried. "There's more?"

"This portion I can confirm," Holgier continued, "as it was corroborated by many members of the longship crew. She spent almost the entire day yesterday in the home of the First Man of South End. During that time she met with nearly every person of the village. Upon departing she told them she would serve them and bring their plight before the council." Holgier paused and looked hopefully at the jug holding the water. Seeing this, Ranulf pushed over an empty mug, and Holgier poured some water for himself. Refreshed, he continued. "We believe this has to do with the recent damage inflicted upon this village by a goblin force, apparently the same one destroyed by the elves."

"A youthful do-gooder then."

Again Holgier replied. "Perhaps, but when she left the entire village was there to see her off, and they all showed her deference, bowing as she boarded the ship. In addition…."

Ranulf groaned at this, but Holgier continued.

"Last night during the trip here she spoke extensively with Leindir and Arawel. Although the topic of their discussion is unknown, lady Arawel in particular seemed submissive to her, even apologetic. It was not the interaction of a lady to her handmaid."

"Shite," Ranulf spat. "So you can't tell me who she is?"

Holgier knew that what he said next would make Ranulf to leap to a conclusion that couldn't yet be supported. His predictability was why he enjoyed working for him. "Her name is Galadwen, my Lord."

Holgier saw Ranulf's eyes widen as a thought rose up in his mind.

"Golden hair?" the master whispered. "Galadwen? She's the spawn of that elvish witch that rules Lothlorien… what's her name? Galadweil"

"Galadriel," Holgier corrected. "And she is co-ruler alongside her…."

"And now she's with Belem," Ranulf rambled on, "probably plotting my overthrow along with Bard." Ranulf was no longer paying the slightest bit of attention to Holgier, so he poured himself another glass of water and let his employer vent, Actually, the rumor about a daughter of Galadriel, or even the Lady herself being in Laketown was already beginning to spread. Galadwen's appearance, her hair in particular, had not gone unnoticed by the crowd gathered to see the elves arrive. As she was the only elf anyone had ever seen with hair that color, someone had decided she must be related to the Lady of the Golden Wood. That someone had told another someone and so, within a few days the whole of Laketown would know the story. Once the rumor found it's way back into this office, Ranulf would take it as confirmation of his fears. Finally the Master had to take a breath.

"None of what concerns you my lord, can be confirmed at this time." Holgier made as if to placate Ranulf, who's girth was causing him to breath heavily and sweat. "And with respect sir, I don't think the elves of Lothlorien are going to march all the way to Esgaroth to start a war."

Ranulf was still wide eyed, but had quieted down at least.

"Sir, if we are going to have any trouble in regards to Lothlorien, it will come in the form of their supporting Dale's possible claim to all lands once held by Girion."

"That includes Laketown," Ranulf noted.

Holgier nodded. "That it does, my lord. And all of the towns from Long Lake eastwards across the grassland to the River Redwater."

The master looked somber now. "How do we stop this, Holgier?" he asked plaintively. "As much as I would like to, I can't simply kill the Lord of Dale without starting a war. And since that stunted little king Dain seems to think Bard's piss is ale, he'd jump in on Dale's side and that would be the end of me."

"The end of Laketown," Holgier corrected in his mind, but as this was the revelation he had been working Ranulf towards, so Holgier said, "there is a weak point in the line of Dale, my lord."

At this Ranulf looked up. "Go ahead."

"Bard has a son, Bain…"

The master already understood. "But Bard's wife is dead and there are no other heirs."

Holgier nodded. "Yes sir. The boy only has a pair of guards most times, and gives them the slip upon occasion."

Ranulf was very pleased now. "So with the kid gone, we just wait it out, and eventually the line fails." The master clapped his hands together in excitement. "We just need patience and then absorb Dale as another vassal city to Esgaroth when Bard is buried."

"Exactly my lord."

"That is a good plan my fine fellow." Ranulf had completely recovered from his earlier bout of paranoia and depression. "We should begin to consider this."

Holgier smiled. "I have already set some pieces in place, my lord, anticipating this might arise."

Ranulf looked at his employee with suspicion. "This is going to cost me, isn't it?"

Holgier shrugged. "I have found someone whose interests in seeing Bard fail align with ours, but loyalty isn't cheap," he conceded.

"Very expensive," Ranulf confirmed.

"I am sure you will find a way to get the council to pay for this, my lord," Holgier said smoothly. "What is a few thousand castar when it comes to securing the trade routes from Erebor?"

"A few?"

"Thirty, my lord. Preferably in gems so it can be transported."

"Thirty thousand gold castars?" Ranulf spluttered. "That's a years wage for the entire guard of Esgaroth."

Holgier nodded. "Yes it is. And if you think you can use the guard to secure Dale, and the trade from the Lonely Mountain, you are welcome to try."

The master sighed deeply. "You have a point, Holgier. How far along are you?"

The thin man shrugged. "I will hear back in a couple of days, with luck. The timing depends on things out of our direct control, but when the moment comes, I will be able to give the order." Holgier looked firmly at Ranulf. "That is of course if I can assure my agent that the funds are available."

Ranulf grimaced. "I can siphon off 15, maybe 20 thousand from city vaults."

Holgier shook his head. "That will not be enough. My associate will need to leave the area after this affair is concluded and start over elsewhere. As he is a successful fellow, you will have to make it worth his while to take the risk."

Turning, Ranulf walked towards the windows and looked out on the wooden spires stretching out before him. "I suppose I can cover the rest from jewelry I have in my personal vault. I will recover payment from the city over time."

"With interest," Holgier thought. "That is good to hear sir. I will update you as news warrants," bowing his head deferentially towards Ranulf, Holgier added, "and inform you before we move to get final approval, of course."

Ranulf nodded silently, his back to Holgier as the master looked out over Laketown. Everything about Ranulf's posture indicated he was not happy about having to make this decision, and that worried the security chief. After all, fifteen thousand was a lot to pay for an assassination, and Holgier's fifteen was riding on the master making the call. Well, there was nothing he could do about that now. He would just have to keep his one good eye on the chubby politician and make sure he made the decision when the time came. Fortunately, the master of Esgaroth was an easy man to read.


	13. A New Beginning

Galadwen followed closely as Belem turned right from a narrow row of shops and onto the broad main street through Esgaroth. This road was crowded, by far the most people Galadwen had seen in one place in her entire life. Everyone had their heads down, moving quickly from one task to the next, almost oblivious to the throng around them. Despite this there was a choreography to this dance of people. Mounted travelers used the middle of the road, each direction staying to the left of center. Coaches or faster moving wagons were next, slow moving carts stayed to the outside next to the slightly raised walkways used by those on foot. Furthermore, the Lakemen seemed to be a polite bunch, stepping aside for Belem and his companion and allowing them to pass.

Dodging heavily laden carts, mules and the occasional mounted individual, Belem led the elf across the traffic to the far side of the road. The wood beneath their feet had been worn smooth, logs split down the middle, laid flat side up and the gaps between them filled with some form of resin. Occasionally she could see logs of a slightly different color, repairs made in the roadway. After just three years of use, already the traffic was taking it's toll.

Belem was holding a metal cup in his left hand, and as she watched, he emptied a handful of seeds from it into his free hand before shoveling them into his mouth. Something Galadwen had noticed soon after leaving the central pool was that nearly everyone in Laketown, from child to codger, wore a wide leather belt around their waist. Attached to this was usually a purse of one size or another, perhaps various tools, and other items the person needed at hand. But what everyone carried was a cup of wood or metal, with a loop handle. At first she assumed this was for drinking, but she soon noticed that many of the Lake Folk also carried a water skin. She was about to ask Belem about this, when the paunchy soldier stopped suddenly at a stall set up in the front of one of the buildings along the road. He was speaking in a language Galadwen didn't understand, although she assumed it was an archaic form of Westron, as a number of the words sounded familiar. Somehow Belem had acquired one of those cups, and after exchanging a few coins, the soldier handed over the cup and the merchant placed a scoop of seeds into it from a cauldron he had over a fire next to him.

By their smell they were roasted chickpeas, but Belem next asked for some form of red spice to be sprinkled liberally into the cup and this masked the smell of the beans with a sharp, pungent odor that made the elf's nose tickle. It turned out that most of Laketown found their meals outside the home rather than maintaining a kitchen, and the cups could hold anything from beer to stew, depending on the owners tastes.

Belem held the cup out towards Galadwen. "You sure you don't want any? They're quite good," Belem promised, the words garbled by the crunching of the peas.

How the captain could eat at a time like this was beyond her. "Are we still being followed?"

Belem nodded. "Yes. And stop whipping your head around trying to spot him. You look suspicious."

Galadwen snorted. "I am suspicious. I am in a strange city and someone I don't know is following me."

"You are a bit full of yourself, my lady," the captain scolded through yet another mouthful. "He could be following me."

That lightened up Galadwen's mood. "Of course. You're in charge of King Bard's security. He must be following you."

Belem nodded. "Makes sense."

Galadwen smiled. "That's a relief. I was worried."

"Nothing to be worried about," Belem said reassuringly. He paused for a moment before adding, "although he is following you."

Galadwen's eyes narrowed in anger and she glared over her shoulder at the man next to her. "You just said he was following you," she hissed.

Belem shook his head, and although he was trying to hide it, Galadwen could see a smile being smothered. "I said he could be following me," he corrected. "But he's not. That fellow is with Holgier's security detail, I'd bet this breakfast on it." Belem shook the cup for effect. "Holgier is in charge of the master's security, and by extension is the security director for Laketown. He and I go way back, and there's really nothing he doesn't already know about me."

"So why me, then?" Galadwen asked.

Now Belem really did smile. "Can you really not see what is going on around you? Here take the last of these." Belem grabbed Galadwen's hand and emptied the last of the red colored chickpeas into it. "Elves are supposed to have such good hearing and eyesight, but it's not going to do you a damn bit of good if you don't pay attention."

Galadwen tossed the spice covered beans into her mouth and began chewing. Looking around she couldn't see what Belem was on about. The people were a bit deferential perhaps, jumping hurriedly out of their when they saw the pair approaching, but they were just being polite. And anyhow, Belem was an important fellow. As for what they were saying, honestly she had never been in a noisier place in her entire life, and she had quickly tried to put this cacophony into the back of her….

"By the fourteen!" Galadwen gasped. Her mouth was on fire and her eyes watering. She thought about spitting out the offending legumes, but she quickly noticed that many eyes were upon her, and she was forced to chew a few more times and swallow.

Belem had his water skin out, offering it to the struggling young elf maid.

"Good Belem," Galadwen gasped through the pain in her mouth, "what is wrong with these chickpeas?"

Belem shrugged as Galadwen grabbed the water skin and took several long draws, going so far as to wash the water around in her mouth before swallowing. "Nothing wrong with them," the Captain explained with a straight face. "That's fire pepper you're tasting. It's from the east, and somewhat new around here, but growing in popularity. Livens up what is otherwise a fairly dull diet. I wouldn't rub your eyes," he added.

That warning was a moment too late, as Galadwen had begun wiping away the tears. Almost immediately her eyes began to burn ferociously, the tears she had been trying to hide now streaming down her face. In addition, her nose was now running and she was forced to sniff in a very unladylike manner. She began cursing under her breath, her vision blurring and her mouth still aflame. Grabbing Belem's elbow, she relied on the chubby soldier to guide her as the pair continued along the street. This went on for some minutes, with Galadwen emptying Belem's waterskin without much effect. By the time her sight began to return they had passed out of the main gate and were crossing a long wooden causeway to the shore. Progress was slower now, the bridge narrower than the main road and thus more congested.

"I will remember that, Captain," Galadwen said in as threatening a voice as she could muster.

Belem simply opened his eyes wide, assuming an expression of innocence. "How was I supposed to know the vaunted physical prowess of the elves could be laid low by a mere dusting of red pepper?"

Galadwen began contemplating revenge, but chose not to pursue it at this time. "What were you on about earlier?" she asked in an effort to change the subject. "Me not noticing something."

"Actually, what you weren't noticing and why that square jawed thug is following us are probably related," the captain replied. "Try not to be obvious about it, but look at the faces of those around you."

Casting her eyes about in what Galadwen hoped was an inconspicuous way, she looked at the faces of the others crossing the bridge. She hadn't noticed before, but nearly all of them were looking at her. "What's going on?" Galadwen whispered.

"Now listen to them," Belem advised. "I know it's noisy, but try and focus."

Galadwen grasped Belem's elbow again, and half closing her eyes, tried to filter out the myriad of noises around her, focusing on the voices. They were all speaking that odd Westeron dialect, but she could pick out words.

"Gold", and "Elf", she heard. "Forest" and "Lady". Her eyes snapped open as a realization hit her. "By the light of the Father, they think I'm Lady Galadriel," she said softly, leaning in to Belem's ear.

Belem nodded. "That would be my guess."

The elf maid was confused. "How could they think that? I've given them no reason to believe I am the Lady of Lothlorien."

Belem raised his eyebrows at this. "Not entirely true, although I agree you've done nothing intentional." Seeing the elf's shocked look, Belem continued. "We are all simple folk around here, Galadwen," he explained. "I am more educated than most, and I can write little more then my name, and read only if the words are simple."

This struck the young elf hard. She loved languages. She spoke and wrote six fluently, along with a cursory grasp of many more related dialects. That others could not read or write even their native tongue was difficult for her to understand. "Why would you allow yourself to be so poorly educated, Belem?" She regretted the tone of this question, and hoped the captain would not be offended.

"You are a young elf," Belem began, his voice giving no indication of offense. "And yet you are nearly twice my age. You can spend a century studying history, or poetry, and still have an eternity to do whatever else strikes your fancy." At this, Belem looked down at Galadwen, meeting her eyes. "For a man, 100 years is enough time to live a full life, and rot to dust in his grave. For most of us, we do not have the luxury to learn what we cannot immediately apply to our survival. Reading is not needed to live, Galadwen. A man has to pick and choose."

Galadwen let this sink in. It was a sad thought, and one she had not considered before. Belem went on as she thought.

"As simple folk, we do not travel much, and we cannot read about foreign places or exotic strangers. How many Elves in your party have golden hair?"

Returning from her thoughts, Galadwen answered. "Just me. But I am only a very young woman. A girl."

Belem smiled. "Not in our eyes. I have been with you for a short while, and I am only just now able to tell that you are not the same age as lady Arawel." Belem's smile turned to a laugh in response the the look he got from Galadwen. "Maybe it's in the eyes, but it's as much in how you act and speak, as in your face. To someone who doesn't know you or have other female elves to compare you with, you could be as old as Middle Earth itself."

Galadwen looked around her at all the faces turned her way. This wasn't something she had considered before, and it was unsettling.

"There is also the widely held belief that Galadriel is a witch, and that she maneuvers from behind the scenes." They had reached the end of the bridge now, and Belem guided her northwards along a worn dirt path just above the lake. "So at the main pool, the golden haired woman lets the ambassador go speak to the master, and then slips away into the crowd when the master is distracted."

Galadwen huffed indignantly. "I did nothing of the sort. I just went with you when you said you would show me the way to the barracks."

Belem laughed. "I accept no responsibility for this my lady, but neither should you. Realize that when you don't have education to help explain what is going on around you, you fall back on imagination, and seeing a beautiful, golden haired elf leaving her people and slipping into the crowd alone lends itself to wild flights of imagination." Belem patted Galadwen's hand which was still holding his elbow. "As an uneducated man myself, I can assure you this is the case. We're here."

They had come to a halt before half a dozen buildings. Long and narrow, they had low walls but steeply pitched thatched roofs. They stood one next to the other, wide double doors in the ends facing the lake. Racks and tables filled a graveled area spread out in front of the buildings, upon which were various spears, swords and helmets. The three buildings nearest Galadwen had elves scattered in front working on their kit, while the three farther off had the men of dale doing the same.

Seeing the new arrivals, a wiry elf in green and gold left the group and walked up to them purposefully. He had almost no fat on him at all, the muscles in his arms plainly visible. His hair was long, tied back over his ears with several leather thongs holding it in a pony tail down his back. Galadwen noted with some shock that he was missing two fingers on his left hand, and there was a prominent scar running along the right side of his jaw.

Fixing his dark eyes on captain Belem, the newcomer snapped his heels together and drew his right palm crisply up to his chest.

"Good to see you again Captain Belem." His voice was deep and sounded like someone used to being listened to.

Belem returned a like salute. "Good to see you as well sergeant Borlas. I hope you've gotten settled in?"

Borlas nodded sternly. "The troops are well, and the accommodations sufficient."

Belem nodded. "When you visit us in Dale, I will see you have quarters more centrally located." Dropping his voice slightly, the captain added, "the master is a bit paranoid and doesn't like foreign troops housed in the city."

"Of course." Borlas betrayed no emotion in the response.

Belem indicated to Galadwen. "This is the new recruit commander Leindir mentioned. Galadwen, this is your training sergeant, Borlas."

Galadwen didn't know whether she should salute or shout out her name, so she instead just remained silent.

"We have met," said Borlas, looking Galadwen over like she was a horse. "It's good we have, otherwise I'd never have given my approval for this."

Galadwen searched her mind, but couldn't recall meeting the sergeant. She had seen him occasionally around the camp, but he seemed to know more about her than simply walking past her in the food tent. Stepping forward, Borlas placed himself just a few fingers away from the startled Galadwen. He was almost two hands taller than her, and not wanting to crane her neck to look up, she settled for staring into his chest.

"Don't remember me, do you recruit?" The words exploded out of him like a barking dog. "You held the right end of my line the third night on the hill. Saw these Dalemen before any of the rest of us and took the message to the commander." Now he leaned down, and Galadwen could feel his breath on her face. "Incidentally, if I ever again have to give you a command twice, I will make your life a bloody misery, do you understand me?"

"So that's where they had met," Galadwen thought. She had not recognized him without a helmet.

Borlas squatted slightly, putting his face directly in front of Galadwen's, their noses almost touching. "I asked you if you understood, recruit?" the sergeant roared.

"Yes," Galadwen squeaked.

Belem nudged her with his elbow. "Yes training sergeant," he corrected.

"Yes training sergeant," Galadwen said, this time with more vigor.

"Better," Borlas snapped. "Now get your arse over to that building on the far left. You will be measured for kit while I consider a recruit overseer."

"Yes training sergeant," Galadwen hoped that sounded military enough, and taking a step back from the looming Borlas, moved around him and headed for the last building.

A moment later Borlas roared after her. "If you are not in that building in five seconds, I will personally shine my boot in your arsehole."

Galadwen burst into a run, almost counting the seconds in her head. Fortunately the doors were open and she hurled herself inside, a moment later peaking out to see if Borlas was following. He wasn't, seeming to have started a jovial conversation with captain Belem. Breathing a sigh of relief, she looked about the room as she thought of what had just happened. It was a plain room, three sets of windows and eight simple wooden beds along each wall. Currently they had no mattresses, but Galadwen remembered seeing them outside, their straw pulled out for cleaning. Galadwen had heard that the military was a gruff bunch, but her introduction to sergeant Borlas had been a shock. In her nearly ninety years, no-one had ever threatened to stick a boot into that particular orifice. If this was military life, she wasn't at all sure she was cut out for it.

Before she had much time to think this over, a pair of female soldiers came through the door, shutting it behind them. Both were wearing the same garb, green tunics with gold trim over tan trousers.

"Not very feminine," Galadwen thought.

They were both taller than Galadwen, one by a few fingers, the other by over a hand, and each had the same wiry appearance of Borlas. Fortunately they seemed to have no prominent scars or missing fingers.

The taller one with light, straw colored hair, spoke first. "Strip," she said, simply.

Galadwen was sure she had misheard. "Excuse me?"

"I said strip," the tawny haired elf repeated.

"I am corporal Miriel." The shorter soldier with brown hair was speaking now as she walked around the room closing the shutters. Galadwen had noticed her before during their travels. She was one of the few elves, of either sex that wore her hair short, cut two fingers off the shoulder.

"What shield Finduilas needs," she explained, "is you without your clothes on so we can measure you for your kit." Miriel was holding a length of knotted string, and having closed all the shutters, was unpacking a small package of parchment and writing implements. "By the way, your face is as red as an apple and you're sweating like a maiden on her marriage bed."

Galadwen was overwhelmed. "I was given some chickpeas with a very spicy seasoning," she said, trying not to imagine what a maiden looked like on a marriage bed.

Both of the others laughed. "Those Dalemen got a few of us with that fire pepper as well," said the corporal.

Galadwen laughed nervously with them. "Well, fortunately it is much better now."

"Hmmm," Finduilas, nodded. "Well it burns going in, but it also burns coming out," she said with a knowing nod to Miriel, "so you're not out of the woods yet. Now get naked so we can do our job."

Closing her eyes, Galadwen removed her clothing, folding it neatly and adding it a piece at a time to a pile on a nearby bed. Within a few moments she was completely disrobed standing in front of two strangers and feeling as awful about herself as she ever had.

Finduilas poked Galadwen beneath the left breast. "That's quite a scar you have there. Orc arrow?"

Galadwen nodded, but was too ashamed to talk, so Finduilas grunted and got to work.

They measured her arms, both shoulder to elbow and forearm to wrist. Next were her legs, both length and girth, along with the length and circumference of her head. Each of these measurements were called out by Finduilas and recorded by Miriel on the parchment, along with over a dozen more. Measuring her bust was particularly unpleasant, Galadwen squeezing her eyes shut and feeling her face burn with shame

"Hah! 7 hand 3 and a half," Finduilas called out, with a note of victory in her voice.

Galadwen wasn't at all sure what that was about, but glad it was over, she opened her eyes to see Miriel handing four silver coins over to Finduilas.

"We're done," Miriel said as Finduilas dropped the coins into a purse on her belt. "You can get dressed. Sergeant Borlas has a formation in 20 minutes, and you will be ready."

Galadwen rushed back to her clothes and began pulling them on. Her two companions ignored her, talking quietly with their backs turned. She finished, and throwing her satchel over a shoulder looked back to the two soldiers, waiting for them to give her instructions.

Seeing this, Miriel looked over to the new recruit. "We still have a few minutes until formation. Do you have any questions?"

Galadwen thought it over for a moment. "Training sergeant Borlas said I would have a recruit overseer. What does that mean?"

"Well," said the corporal, "an RO is someone who's job it is to watch you night and day, to make sure you improve your skills and perform correctly whatever tasks the training sergeant assigns you." Miriel sat down on one of the beds and continued. "Now if you were male, I'd not really know who they would assign as RO, but as we recently confirmed, you are not a male." Finduilas laughed at this but Miriel continued, "thus, it will likely be Finduilas here."

Galadwen was not sure she liked the sound of that. "It couldn't be one of the other female troopers?"

Miriel met Galadwen's eyes with a sad stare. "A week ago there were four women in the troop, now there are only two."

Galadwen dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Finduilas cut in. "It's part of the job."

Miriel nodded. "Perhaps, but we've not lost anyone to combat in more than seven decades. With luck, we will have seven more before we have to light the pyres again."

"Tulkas guide us," they both said in unison.

"Tulkas?" Galadwen didn't know that the troopers prayed to a Vala. Tulkas had come to Arda to help lead the other Valar in the great war against Melkor.

"We often call upon the Wrestler," Finduilas explained. "He came to aid others when he saw need, and we hope to have that strength and wisdom."

Galadwen nodded. Perhaps there was more to military life than just stabbing things. "Just one more question," Galadwen continued. "After my last measurement, Miriel, you gave Finduilas a few coins. Why was that?"

Both of the others looked at each other silently for a second, and then broke into laughter.

"Well that was a bet," Miriel explained. "We both noticed what a prodigious bust-line you had, and Finduilas here proposed that one of us should guess a measurement. The other would bet the under or over." Looking at Finduilas and smiling, Miriel continued. "Finduilas set 7 hands 2 as the measure, and I said under. Unfortunately for me, although not for Finduilas or yourself my well endowed recruit, the measure came in at 7 hands 3 and a half."

Galadwen felt her face once again burning, and turned away slightly to hide her embarrassment, but Miriel spoke up immediately.

"Recruit, I would strip naked and wrestle an ogre if I thought I could have your figure. If you have the will, you will soon be a soldier, and you'll not find a lot of privacy in this job. We live together, eat together, and if there's not enough time, bathe together." Miriel saw the shocked look on Galadwen's face, but smiled. "You'll grow to be proud of the body Eru gave you, and be even more proud of what you make it into. You'll be proud of the muscle, the calluses and the scars. Also, there is some good marriage material in the military, so use what the Father gave you to get them to pay attention."

"And when they go to far," Finduilas added, "give them a scar of their own to remember you by."

"Damn right," the corporal agreed. "Only a man willing to take a knife for you is good enough to bed you."

Despite herself, Galadwen found a smile beginning to form on her face, but before she could ask anything else, a shrill blast from a horn pierced the air.

"There's formation," Miriel cried, jumping up from the bed as a second blast sounded. "For now, you are to be in my squad, fall in at the end of the line to my left. Move now!"


	14. The Color of Water

His mother had kept him working through the afternoon. Tables needed to be set for the evening crowd, ingredients prepared for Kona, and there was always something that had to be cleaned. It was early evening before Earendil found some time to himself, and leaping at the opportunity, he left through the main room and out the front doors to the porch.

Dale was a strange city. Once it had been substantially larger than Esgaroth, but had been abandoned after the arrival of Smaug. It had been widely considered a ruin after that, after all how could a city that had been attacked by a dragon and then sat unlived in for more than 170 years be anything else? But what was widely considered, wasn't necessarily the truth. Smaug had first attacked the gate of Erebor and seeing this tempest descending on the Dwarves above, many in Dale had fled immediately. This had been a tragic mistake as Smaug, having defeated the Dwarven warriors at the gate, turned his attention to the city a few leagues away. The great beast found the road southward clogged with terrified families, and he had swept across them with his flame, killing hundreds in just a few passes. The warriors of Dale came out in force, firing arrows at the dragon from the walls and towers, but Smaug swept them from their strongpoints with as much ease as he had slain those on the road. With the death of King Girion, the defense of Dale evaporated.

The easy targets gone, the wyrm had turned his greedy mind back to the treasure within the mountain, flying north and crawling inside. Here he slew hundreds, perhaps thousands of dwarves trapped in the deep passages and caverns of the Lonely Mountain. But below in Dale, those that had hidden in their stone buildings found that the Great and Terrible Smaug had forgotten them, and they used this respite to grab what few belongings they could carry and flee south to Esgaroth. And so it was that when Smaug finally returned to Dale to relieve it of what little treasure it contained, he found it nearly deserted. He tore open some of the grander buildings lusting after whatever riches he could sense inside them, but on the whole, Dale was left intact.

For some time a few hardy folk tried to live under the threat of the terrible creature, Smaug making occasional forays into the nearly deserted land around the mountain looking for pillage, or preferably, maidens to carry off. These depredations drove of the last of the people of Dale, and so the Dragon became content to spend most of his time lying on a bed of gold. The years passed and time became the only enemy of the empty stone city. And while time may indeed, as the old riddle goes, "grind hard stones to meal", it doesn't manage this in a mere 170 years, so when men returned to the abandoned capital they found their former city dirty, overgrown and parched, but otherwise intact.

And so with the arrival of Bard, and with the dwarves of Erebor essentially finished with the rebuilding of their defenses, Dain Ironfoot sent hundreds of his followers to Dale to turn the sturdy bones of the once great city into a marvel of solid dwarven handiwork. Dale became as much a dwarven city of stone, as Esgaroth had become an elven city of wood. Thus the city Earendil gazed upon, with it's broad, cobbled avenues and stone spires, had a strong, organized, and empty feel to it. It could house fifteen thousand, with room in the valley beyond for three times again as many, but it's quiet streets were home to less than half it's capacity. Of course, many more than that had left Esgaroth for the opportunity of free, irrigated farmland. Homesteads and small hamlets had begun to spring up in every direction within half a day of the city. Dale itself however, was magnificently quiet.

Earendil found a seat on the cobbled stoop of The Kings Cup. Soon a crowd would begin to arrive, many dwarves from Erebor would walk two and a half hours from their work in the mountain to drink, eat and sometimes fight at his mother's establishment. Dwarves also had a particular fondness for human women who, regardless of their beauty in the eyes of their menfolk, were always lovely in the eyes of a dwarf. For this reason, there would also be many ladies present this night. It was not that they were "professional women", as his mother delicately put it. They weren't. They were just there for the attention, as a dwarf seemed content to simply look upon a thing of beauty and admire it, without the need to go further. Yes they bought the women drink and food, made rather direct comments about the appearance or functionality of certain body parts, and occasionally touched things they weren't supposed to. But they never forced themselves on anyone, and getting slapped, often slapped very hard for their forwardness, seemed only to make the whole interaction more entertaining for them.

In truth, human women didn't find dwarves all that attractive. They were short, hairy, smelled bad, and were usually drunk, but they treated beauty with a reverence lost on most human men. Furthermore a dwarf was happy to buy a woman all she could eat or drink, but would refuse flatly to pay for "professional services", and so Earendil could count on one hand the number of times a lady had left for the private rooms with a dwarven companion, and on each of these occasions both she and the dwarf had been far less than sober.

The main room had been empty as Earendil passed through. Bain had left, along with his newest and greatest love, Estrid. Her father and the dwarves from lunch had also departed, and with this lapse in business his mother was in the kitchen, feet up on a chair, drinking a chilled beer. She wouldn't come looking for him, but if she spotted her son she would find something to keep him busy. Earendil wasn't interested in busy, and so left the porch and headed eastward towards the river, thinking perhaps to watch the water change color as the sun dipped. He moved at a leisurely pace walking passed the small ash trees the dwarves had planted in especially designed basins spaced along each side of all the main roads. They were all saplings yet, but given a decade or two, the tall trunks would carry the branches above the streets, shading them and making Dale a forest growing in a city of stone.

Arriving at the River Running, Earendil sat on the broad stone wall that lined this shore, dangling his feet above the current below. To his right a broad, flat bridge crossed to the eastern bank. There were no buildings on that side, and this was one of only two bridges that spanned the river at any point between Dale and Rivermouth. This lack of bridges was intentional, requiring an enemy that wanted to assault Erebor to choose between moving up the valley under Ravenhill or forcing a crossing at the bridges. Earendil didn't know this for certain, but he suspected the dwarves had set traps in the bridges, levers that when pulled would bring down the central spans if they were ever attacked. Regardless of direction, an attack on the Dale valley would be costly for any army daring enough to attempt it.

As Earendil thought about these things, he watched the shadows growing longer, stretching out across the river. He found himself thinking of Galadwen again. He smiled. This was not a surprise, as she was what he had spent most of the past six days thinking about. He wondered how she was, and assumed she had made it to Esgaroth by this time. Beyond her beauty, she seemed to have such an interesting life, traveling to new places on diplomatic missions, having adventures.

The large boy laughed quietly at himself for this. Losing a lung to an arrow was a trifle more than an adventure, and far from exotic. And now that he thought about it, he was the best friend to a crown prince, friendly with another, and on a first name basis with two Kings, one of whom was very possibly the richest dwarf in Middle Earth. Also, he did have access to the North's greatest library, second to the library in Gondor of course, but impressive nonetheless. And furthermore, he had touched the light of the Creator, and of course there was the matter of his father.

Now he laughed openly at himself. "The grass is always greener," he said out loud to no one in particular, which made it all the more surprising when he received an answer.

"So I have been told, master Earendil."

Twisting around, Earendil saw a small man in the livery of Dale. He had lost the hair on the top of his head, but long tresses of white flowed down from over his ears and around to the back of his head. On the tip of his narrow nose he had a set of, well, he wasn't sure what they were. They must be for looking through, as they had round pieces of glass surrounded by a thin metal frame that held them in line with his sharp, grey eyes. They were very expensive, that Earendil knew, as clear glass was rare, and the delicate metal workmanship that held it couldn't be cheap. He was also carrying a book, which piqued Earendil's curiosity. He tried to get a look at the cover, but it was held against the odd fellows side, and was obscured. He was also old, at least seventy the boy thought, but with a spry leap that defied this assessment, the old fellow sprung onto the wall, sitting down next to Earendil.

"Watching the water change color?" the little man said in a high pitched voice. "I would love to join you, thank you."

Earendil didn't recall inviting him, so instead he asked, "Can I help you, sir?"

The old man shook his head. "No thank you. I am quite comfortable."

Earendil sighed, and rubbing the bridge of his nose, tried another approach. "You knew my name sir," he said patiently. "Is there something you need from me?"

"What?" The fellow seemed to have been considering other matters, and he took a moment to focus. "Oh no. Nothing I need."

"Were you looking for me?" Earendil tried yet again.

The old man nodded. "Oh yes. The crown prince sent me to find you."

Earendil waited patiently for a moment, and then realizing his new companion wasn't going to elaborate without a nudge, pushed further. "And what did the crown prince want?"

The fellow blinked a few times, once again needing to re-focus on what was around him. "Of course. The prince asks that you join him in his royal quarters at your earliest convenience. He requests however, that you make such haste as you can, that the matter at hand is an urgent and time sensitive one, vital to the continuance of the crown of Dale." That said, the fellow turned his face back to the water, eyes softening as his focus once again slipped away.

Earendil flipped his feet around to the street, and standing up, turned southwards to follow the river road towards the royal hall.

"Nice meeting you," the old man said softly. "I'm sure you can find your way."

Earendil didn't respond, simply nodding as he left along the road. In just five minutes he was there. The royal hall was backed up against the river road, balconies on the third and fourth floors hung out over the street and offered lovely views of the river and eastern arm of the Lonely Mountain. The complex filled an entire city block, but it's only entrance was opposite the river, so walking around to the far side, Earendil entered through the main gate. The guards smiled and offered greetings as he passed. The giant boy was easy to recognize and had been a frequent visitor to the hall since Bard had returned, so security wasn't what one might expect at the hall of a king. He walked through an arched corridor and entered the central courtyard. It was getting dark here, as the walls blocked out much of the late afternoon light, but the smooth, polished flagstones still shone slightly.

The courtyard was about 100 paces square, windows with balconies studding each of the walls. The main reception hall was straight ahead, and the guard and servants quarters to the left, so the sliver haired lad turned right, walking up a set of wide, low stairs, passing two more disinterested looking guards and strolling into the private apartments of the king.

The entrance hall was wide and fashioned from a light colored marble. Stairs with ornately carved banisters ran up each side wall to the second floor, then doubling back upon themselves rose three more flights to the uppermost stories of the building. At each floor all four walls had walkways lined with paintings of powerful and intellectual looking nobles decked out in spectacular garb, relatives and forebears Earendil assumed. On the second floor, Bain was having an animated conversation with two of the soldiers assigned as his guard. Seeing Earendil below in the entrance hall, the crown prince waived off the two men and began bounding down the stairs.

"Glad to see Ithruin found you," Bain shouted as he began down the final flight. "I'm never really sure that codger is paying attention when I talk to him."

Earendil smiled. "He does seem a bit detached from what is going on around him, doesn't he?" Arriving on the ground floor, Bain stretched out a hand and the two friends clasped wrists. Shaking his head, Earendil continued, "he doesn't have much focus. Not a good trait for a messenger."

Bain walked over to a side table, pouring some water from a pitcher into a crystal goblet and offering it to his friend. "He's not a messenger. Three went with father to Laketown, and the other two took advantage of the absence to go fishing."

"How are you supposed to communicate then?" Earendil wasn't impressed by the professionalism of Dale's messenger corps.

"I send Ithruin," Bain replied laughing. "Look, you are not a hard guy to find and fortunately The Kings Cup is well known."

Earendil nodded and shrugged. "What is his job, if I might ask?"

"He's my father's philosopher."

Earendil laughed loudly at this. "Why by Iluvatar's beard does you father need a philosopher?"

Bain looked confused. "Iluvatar has a beard?"

Earendil rolled his eyes dramatically. "It's an expression, you lunk head. Answer the damn question."

Bain's confused look cleared. "Well, he calls himself a philosopher, but really he just advises father in matters that require different points of view."

"Really?" It was Earendil's turn to be confused now. "I'd believe he was a philosopher. He seems wrapped up in green grass and the color of water. But what qualifies him as a royal adviser?"

"No idea," admitted the crown prince. "But father takes his advice seriously."

Earendil was incredulous. "What sort of advice has he given?"

"Well, to send you and the guard to assist the Lothlorians, for one."

Earendil shook his head. "King Bard made that decision on the spot in Laketown, and I would have remembered that scatter brained oldster if he had been with us."

Bain smiled. "Don't you wonder why my father asked that a healer come on a diplomatic mission? Why he brought the entire royal guard?"

Earendil paused. Now that Bain mentioned it, it was an odd thing to do considering the trip was for a trade negotiation.

Bain's smile widened. "See? It is odd." The prince took a sip of his water. "Father told me this morning before he returned to Laketown that he was glad he had listened to Ithruin. I pressed him on that, and father explained that because they knew the elven delegation was coming and were expecting them any day, Ithruin had pointed out that the roads south of Mere's End were thick with orcs, and that the goodwill of the Golden Wood was vital to the future of Dale. "

Earendil was listening closely. It seemed this philosopher had a touch of the fortune teller in him as well.

"Anyhow, his advice was that the king of Dale should prepare just in case the diplomatic party from Lorien met with trouble," with this Bain looked pointedly at his friend. "And so he took the entire guard with him, and found the best combat healer in the north to tag along." Downing the last of his water, Bain added. "Damn fine thing he did too. But now," he continued, changing the subject, "we have a mission of our own."

Earendil returned his attention to his friend, but promised himself he would think this Ithruin matter over more when he had the chance. "Yes. You said it was urgent, and vital to the continuance of the crown of Dale." Earendil finished this sentence in a grand tone.

Bain nodded sincerely, "And indeed it is. I need to get to Laketown and see Estrid. She almost begged that I visit her, and I know if I see her I can could get her to fall in love with me."

Earendil dropped his head into his palm. "By which you mean you think you can get inside her small clothes."

Bain raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Yeah. That too."

Earendil sighed. "I can see how you would find this time sensitive and urgent, but how by the Valar is this vital to the continuance of the crown of Dale?"

Bain sighed, obviously frustrated by his friend's inability to grasp the obvious. "I'm the crown prince. I have to procreate or, no more line of Bard."

As salacious as it was, Earendil could see how that logic would sound impeccable to Bain, so he tried another tack. "Your father will not be happy."

Bain waved this off. "He won't mind. I will tell him that I am there to be a part of the trade negotiations, learn statecraft and meet with the elvish ambassador."

"I meant, not happy with you chasing this girl."

"On that I think you're wrong, 'Dil." Bain had stuck out his lower lip and was shaking his head vigorously. "Estrid's father is one of the richest men in Esgaroth, and while he isn't on the council, he still pulls a lot of strings down there." Bain leaned towards his friend and continued. "Look 'Dil, it's not as if this part of Middle Earth is rife with the virgin daughters of noble houses. A powerful and wealthy merchant of Laketown would be a good ally for Dale when push eventually comes to shove between us." Then Bain smiled "And she looks spectacular from behind."

Earendil wasn't sure about how Estrid looked from behind, but he had to admit that marrying into a powerful merchant family was a solid choice. "So you plan to leave in the morning?"

"No," Bain replied. "Tonight. Maybe midnight."

"Midnight?"

Bain nodded. "If I tell father I'm there to meet the delegation from Lorien, he'll expect me to to attend the reception."

Earendil laughed. "I suspect he will."

"Yes. So those sorts of events are in the evening, fancy dress and fine food affairs. Laketown is 18 leagues from here, and giving the horses a rest at Riversmouth, we can still get there by an hour, or even two before noon. That will give me time to locate and woo the lovely Estrid, and still be ready for the evening meal."

Earendil pursed his lips. The math seemed good. "So why am I joining you?"

Bain clapped his friend on the back. "Cummon. We do damn near everything together. Remember that cathouse we broke into?"

Earendil certainly did. He probably still had the marks from the whipping his mother had given him. "Lets not bring that up again, shall we?"

Bain smiled, but changed the subject. "Also, although I will bring along my guard, no one would dare accost me with you hulking about."

Earendil was still unconvinced.

"If you're worried about the dinner party, I'll pack that court clothing my father had custom made for you. You know, the stuff in the new style from the southern coast?"

Earendil had seen it, and wanted nothing to do with it. His mother had actually requested it, worried that her son would seem a bumpkin standing next to the crown prince at court as he occasionally did.

"You can leave that behind," Earendil said quickly. "But you're right about my presence being a deterrent. I will head home and explain this to my mother. You and the guard can meet me in front of the Kings Cup at midnight."

Bain clapped his hands together. "Splendid. You are a friend and a gentleman, helping your prince in his time of need."

Earendil glowered at his excitable friend. "I am not traveling with you to help with your needs," he said sullenly. "I just don't want the crown prince of Dale eaten by a bear because he got lost and ended up in the wilds."

With this settled, and after some small talk that mostly centered around the physical attributes of Estrid, Earendil left and headed through the cool of the evening back towards the inn. His mother was not pleased with her son leaving so soon after returning, and certainly not in the middle of the night, but conceded that the prince could not travel without protection. Earendil and Bain has been friends since they were six and had been involved in many boyhood adventures together, long before Bain became royalty. It wasn't practical to separate them now, and as Tindomial and Bard were also close and had been longtime friends back in Laketown, she had long ago accepted that her family and Bard's were bound. Getting her son a hardy dinner, she sent him to bed for a few hours rest before the trip.

He was awoken by a tapping on his door. It was dark outside with only thin light from the moon breaking through scattered clouds. His mother had laid out clothing for him, sturdy traveling gear, along with what smelled like bread, dried meat and cheese folded into a cloth. His staff was there, along with his two belts of medicinal pouches which he hung crossways over each shoulder and secured to his waist. Earendil dressed, thinking warmly of his mother who, while he slept, had spent several hours preparing him for the trip. She was there in the main room when he came down, still wearing the same clothes from lunchtime, but having replaced her veil with a shawl. It was still busy, several dozen patrons, dwarves, men and women, all boisterously enjoying themselves.

"Bain just arrived," she said while fussing over the ties on his medicine belts. "He has four guards, so you won't have any trouble."

Earendil bent over and kissed his mother on the top of the head. "You worry too much, mother," he said softly. "I have never had any trouble on the roads this far north."

Tindomial nodded. "Keep the wind in your face and your eyes peeled just the same."

She walked outside with him. The guards were on bays, but Bain had a bright white stallion. It was a temperamental beast he had named Mithril, and Earendil had seen it throw the young prince on numerous occasions. In time though, the pair had grown together, and now they were as fluid and fast as any rider and horse in the northlands.

"Give your mother one more kiss," Tindomial ordered and Earendil complied with a peck on the cheek.

"I will be back soon," he promised. "No orcs this time, I swear."

Tindomial reached up and touched his face gently. "Hurry home, and try not to mingle with the Galadhrim. They are haughty and proud, everything I've raised you not to be."

Earendil's stomach knotted. He had not told his mother about Galadwen, or that his real reason in returning so quickly to Esgaroth was the off chance he might see her again. He understood more than anyone his mother's distrust of elves, but this knowledge had not had any sway upon him once he had seen the young maid's face.

Mithril was stamping, eager to be off, but Bain held the reigns tight. "Thank you lady Tindomial for allowing your son to escort me on this trip." He was wearing one of those ridiculous flat hats with the feather, which he doffed with a bow. "Your prince feels safer in his presence, and will have him back to you unharmed shortly."

Earendil had walked over to his friend and was standing next to the stallion now. He smiled at the speech. Bain was a skirt chasing lout, but could be very charming at times.

Tindomial smiled also, curtsying slightly. "I am not sure whether you or your horse produces more hot air, crown prince, but I wish you safe travels."

Bain and the guards all laughed at this, and leaning slightly towards his friend the prince said loudly. "Your mother is truly a gem of Dale. As insightful as she is beautiful." Brandishing his hat once more, the prince lightly spurred his mount, and the party moved off into the night.


	15. Out in the Breeze

By the time the third blast sounded, both Miriel and Finduilas were out the door, Galadwen following as quickly as she could. Blinking as she stepped out into the bright, mid morning light, she saw that the troop had already formed into two blocks of soldiers, separated by two paces. Miriel was in the front row of the block nearest to Galadwen standing at the right end of a squad of four, everyone dressed in the same green and tan uniform. Her back was straight, heels together, hands at her sides and head straight forward, but her eyes flicked sideways to Galadwen and she looked angry.

Galadwen saw her mouth the word "move", and the corporal's head snapped to the left indicating where Galadwen should stand. Borlas was walking towards the formation from it's far side, and a realization sunk in that if she wasn't in her position by the time the sergeant arrived, she would be very unhappy. Rushing past Miriel and mimicking the stance of those around her, she joined the squad at the end of the row, the 5th in line.

Each of the platoons had three squads, but only two of those squads had seven soldiers. The missing from the other squads testified to the losses suffered on the hill. Seeing that one squad in the far platoon numbered only two, she did the math, and her heart sank. Half the troop was gone, and many of those in formation bore wounds suffered from the battle. Galadwen prayed some of those missing were still recuperating, but regardless, the losses suffered by the Galadhrim had been severe.

"Attention first sergeant!" The command was barked out by a tall soldier standing two paces in front of the other platoon. Galadwen noted there was no corresponding soldier standing in front of her. Borlas was still ten paces or more to the left, striding purposefully towards them, but with that command everyone's head and eyes snapped towards him. Galadwen followed their lead, moving her head to follow the sergeant as he assumed a position five paces in front and centered on the two platoons.

Borlas looked over the formation briefly. "Troop…Rest!"

At the command "rest" every trooper moved their left foot outwards, their hands folded in front of them at belt level. Galadwen, caught by surprise, did her best to catch up, but the sergeant's eyes settled on her.

"Right hand gripping left wrist." The whispered advice came from the trooper to her right, and realizing she had her hands reversed, she followed the instructions. The corner of the sergeant's mouth twitched briefly in annoyance, but his eyes slowly slid away from Galadwen.

"I am sure you want to know the condition of the wounded." Borlas's voice was powerful and strong, an elf used to speaking in front of others. "Spears Faradir and Telion are both still in poor condition. They are getting good care from the Lakemen and we will ask Iluvatar to speed their recoveries. Sergeant Gadirian is recovering, but has lost his right leg below the knee. He will not be returning as platoon sergeant, although as I am doing double duty, we are considering his promotion to training sergeant should his recovery and desire allow."

A wave of murmurs went through the gathered soldiers, but Borlas would allow none of that.

"Shut it, all of you," he snapped, silencing the troops in an instant. "That he survived is a testament to his strength and will, as well as to the excellent care he got in the field. We will not mourn for a soldier displaying such fortitude, not for as long as he is still with us. Is that clear?"

"Yes First Sergeant!" The response came as one voice from every mouth at once.

"The others are making excellent progress, and we expect them to be rejoining the pack over the next two weeks."

Galadwen wasn't sure what was meant by "pack", but Borlas didn't seem in the mood to take questions, so she listened as he continued.

"With the loss of first platoon's sergeant, and after discussion with 2nd Aphador and commander Leindir, we have all agreed that Corporal Miriel will be offered command of 1st platoon." Borlas swept his eyes to the left, his gaze falling on the corporal. "Corporal Miriel, front and center!"

Snapping to attention, the short haired trooper marched forward, returning to attention in front of sergeant Borlas and saluting crisply.

"Corporal Miriel, you have been deemed by your superiors most qualified for the rank of platoon sergeant," Borlas was speaking to the soldier in front of him, but his tone had a feeling of formality in it, as if the words were spoken to be witnessed by everyone present. "This rank carries with it duties and responsibilities," Borlas continued. "Corporal, do you understand the duties of which I speak?"

"Yes first sergeant," Miriel replied firmly.

"Knowing what is expected of you, do you accept this duty?"

"Yes first sergeant," she replied again, with equal force.

Borlas raised his right hand, and as Miriel reached out, he placed something in her hand. For a brief moment, Galadwen thought she saw a slight smile on the first sergeant's face, but it was gone just as quickly.

"Assume your post, platoon sergeant."

Offering another salute, the newly promoted sergeant spun on her heel and marched back to a position two paces in front of her new platoon. Turning her back on the soldiers, she looked over her left shoulder towards the formation.

"First squad, fill in the… rank."

The three troopers to Galadwen's right came to attention and took two side steps to the right. Galadwen, caught completely off guard, jumped to her right awkwardly and assumed her new position. Fortunately sergeant Borlas didn't comment.

"Now for other business." Borlas now turned his eyes and focused on Galadwen. "Recruit Galadwen, front and center."

"Oh by the light," Galadwen thought, but snapping her left foot inwards, she marched out in the best impersonation of a soldier her limited experience could manage.

Passing Miriel, the sergeant whispered, "He is training sergeant to you."

Galadwen nodded slightly. "Yes platoon sergeant," she whispered, receiving the brief flash of a smile in response. Coming to attention in front of sergeant Borlas, Galadwen saluted, open palm. Galadwen held it until Borlas returned the salute, his cocked left eyebrow hopefully an indication that he was impressed.

"Assume rest position one pace to my left facing the troop, recruit."

"Yes training sergeant." Galadwen had seen Miriel pivot, something about using the ball of one foot and the heel of the other. Unfortunately that was still beyond her, so she stepped off as sharply as she could manage, turning to face the others on Borlas's left.

"This is recruit Galadwen," Borlas began in his booming voice. "Unlike nearly all of the rest of you, she did not come to the service of Lothlorien after many years of studying martial arts and weapons forms." The sergeant was moving his head as he spoke, making eye contact with everyone in turn. "Recruit Galadwen came to us following a somewhat different path," the sergeant continued. "She came on this mission as lady Arawel's personal handmaiden."

This got quite a few laughs, and Galadwen felt her face reddening yet again, but a glare from the first sergeant quelled the snickering immediately.

"Recruit Galadwen. Where did we first meet?"

Galadwen had not expected to speak, but she could immediately feel that this was a test. "Third night on the hill, training sergeant. Right flank." She projected as firmly as she could, but her voice sounded thin and shrill compared to Borlas. Still, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Miriel nod slightly in approval, and that reassured her.

"If you think," Borlas had lowered his voice and was growling a bit now, "that I would let some perfumed lady's maid into this outfit troopers, you are sadly mistaken. This girl had realized the situation we were in that night, stripped down the body of spear Lachien, and using this borrowed armor, assumed a place on the line just five paces to my right. She did this under no one's orders," Borlas added, "but only because of her own sense of duty"

The troop responded with a low, almost guttural noise, like a growl. Galadwen was worried that they were angry, that she had defiled their dead, but looking again at Miriel, she saw a keen look in her eyes that was certainly not anger. This time, Borlas did not cut off the noise, but allowed the growl to die out on it's own before continuing.

"This handmaiden," there was a derisive emphasis on the word, "decided she wasn't going to die without taking one of those bastard orcs with her." Without looking at Galadwen, Borlas asked, "and did you take one of them with you, recruit?"

Galadwen was beginning to feel something she had never felt before, almost a heat inside her. The terror of that third night was still there, the smell of death, but she now felt a sense of pride welling up in her, a feeling she had done her duty and wanted others to know of it.

"Damn right I did, training sergeant." Although low and gruff, the voice was hers, but the words didn't seem to be. She was shocked at their force.

Now the growls were deeper, louder. She had heard this sound before, and struggled to place it. As the growl died away again, Borlas asked a further question. "And how did you kill your enemy, recruit?"

"Stabbed him with my spear as he tried to climb the barrier, training sergeant."

Still more growling from the assembled troops. "It must be some sort of cheer, or sign of approval," she thought. It was odd, but it made her feel good.

"And where did you stab him, recruit?"

Galadwen turned her head slightly and looked inquisitively at the first sergeant. He now clearly showed a slight, crooked smile, and one eyebrow was raised as if he was expecting something.

The words that roared from her mouth were some she had never thought herself capable of saying, not in public and certainly not in full voice. Still, they felt good when she said them, almost as if she had been holding something inside her whole life.

"Right in his stinking ball sack, first sergeant!"

The troop exploded. Growls and barks, feet stamping on the ground. She realized now where she had heard the sound before. It was the snarl of a warg, like those she had seen attacking the baggage train just a few days out of Lothlorien. These soldiers were the pack, and they were honoring another wolf. She felt a huge surge of pride, and tears began to well up. These she fought hard to beat back down, as she didn't think her new pack would be impressed if she burst out crying.

This time Borlas held up his hand, and the noise died away. "Recruit. Tell the troop what had happened to you in the minute before the assault on the barricade."

"Training sergeant?" Galadwen wasn't sure what Borlas was asking.

In response, Borlas looked at her intensely, but said nothing.

Then it struck her. "He is talking about my wound," she thought. "I was hit by an arrow, training sergeant," she replied.

"You were wounded?"

"Yes training sergeant."

"How badly?"

"It penetrated my left lung resulting in it's failure. After the battle I was unconscious for two days." She said this as matter-of-factly as she could. She knew that many of the troopers had been wounded, and she didn't want them to think she thought herself a special case.

"So you held the line for five minutes, killing one of the enemy, and on my orders, carried a message concerning the arrival of the relief force to the commander at the top of the hill," Borlas now spoke more softly, although still loudly enough for all to hear, "all the while having a arrow lodged in your failed lung?"

Galadwen wasn't sure what to say. "Truthfully first sergeant, I didn't notice it was there."

Borlas turned back to the troop. "Any of you bastards want to laugh at that?"

Both platoons roared back. "No First Sergeant!"

"Shield Finduilas." Borlas looked towards the back of the second platoon where the tall, blonde soldier from earlier came to attention.

"Yes, First Sergeant?"

"You will be this recruit's RO. You will ensure that the orc on the hill is not the last one she stabs in the egg sack, is that clear?"

"My pleasure, first sergeant."

Borlas drew himself up to attention. "Back to your post, recruit Galadwen."

She was so relieved she almost forgot, but catching herself, Galadwen came to attention in front of Borlas and saluted, before returning to her position in the squad.

"Platoon sergeants, I need all weapons and armor turned out, cleaned and repaired. Each platoon is to assign two soldiers to food prep for the evening. There is a bay half a league to the north which is secluded and suitable for bathing. You will all haul your stinking carcasses to that bay and wash the crust from your asses, is that clear?"

"Yes first sergeant!" replied the troop in unison.

"Sergeants, take command of your platoons."

Both platoon sergeants went to attention and saluted. After Borlas responded, Miriel spun to face her new command. "All right. You heard the first sergeant. Get those weapons and armor fully up to speed. I will be inspecting them three hours before nightfall. Recruit Galadwen."

"Yes platoon sergeant."

"You will stand in front of the barracks you were in before and wait for your RO."

"Yes platoon sergeant."

"Platoon At…. Attention."

They all came to attention, and after a pause heard the command "Fall out."

Galadwen headed for the doors to the southern-most barracks, but looking back, saw that everyone else was moving towards Miriel. She was standing at rest, a composed look on her face as a queue formed in front of her. As Galadwen watched, the first soldier in the line stepped forward, a solidly built male trooper with heavy muscles. Pulling his arm back, he struck the sergeant across the face with an open hand, snapping her head around slightly. Miriel did nothing to stop him, maintaining her hands in the rest position. With a brief nod, he stepped aside and was replaced by another trooper who punched the sergeant forcefully in the shoulder. Jumping forward, Galadwen had the thought to stop this madness, but a hand grabbed her shoulder and held her firmly in place. She had not noticed Finduilas arrive, and turning to the light haired spear, she asked her what was happening.

"We are saying goodbye," Finduilas said in a melancholy voice.

Galadwen didn't understand. "Miriel isn't going anywhere," she argued. "Why are they striking her?"

"Up until this moment," Finduilas explained, "Miriel has been one of us, a common soldier."

Looking carefully, Galadwen could see that this was hard on the tall soldier. She was speaking softly, and her eyes seemed misty.

"We are a tough bunch," Finduilas continued. "We live together, eat together and fight together. Often enough, we fight each other."

Galadwen tried to understand. "Fight each other?"

"We are brothers, recruit, regardless of our sex. And brothers fight."

Every few seconds Galadwen heard another blow fall, and looking over, saw that Miriel was beginning to become bloodied, a lip split and a cheek swelling up. Galadwen wanted to know there was a good reason behind this assault, so she pressed onward. "So why are they striking her?"

Finduilas inhaled deeply before continuing. "With this promotion she becomes an officer. She is no longer just a soldier, but a leader. Remember when Borlas asked if she would accept the responsibilities and the position?"

Galadwen nodded silently.

"Many troopers will decline this promotion, choosing instead to remain with the pack. An officer leads, disciplines and delegates. The officer may be called upon to choose who will live and who will die. Because of this, they must distance themselves from their troops." Finduilas was clearly choked up now, and she shook her head as if trying to clear it of the emotion that was obviously engulfing her. "The tradition comes from the fact that brawls between the foot soldiers are common and rarely punished, but to strike an officer brings serious repercussions. This is the last time they may strike Miriel and expect no punishment. The last time they will be equals."

Looking back, Galadwen saw the last blow fall. Miriel was cradling her left arm, her lower lip was split and swollen, her teeth red with blood. The blows had not been targeted to truly hurt her, Galadwen now saw, open hands and punches to the shoulders mostly. But the volume of them had left marks that would take a week or more to fade.

"Lets introduce you to the other platoon sergeant," Finduilas said, stepping away in the direction of the far barracks.

"Spear Finduilas." It was Miriel, her voice a little weak, but still holding a note of command. "Front and center."

Finduilas drew herself up, and for a moment seemed about to continue walking away, but after a second, she turned and moved to stand in front of the platoon sergeant. Not knowing what else to do, Galadwen followed.

"You were not in the line." Miriel's left eye was beginning to swell shut, but she had released her injured arm and was standing straight and strong.

"I was not, platoon sergeant." Finduilas said this firmly, but Galadwen thought she heard a slight break in her voice.

"You will complete the tradition, spear," Miriel responded.

To Galadwen, this was clearly an order, but Finduilas shook her head. "I will not." This time her voice did break, tears had begun to run down her face.

Galadwen began to worry she was involved in something private, and looking about, she saw she was correct. Scattered all about the gravel yard were the tables and racks used for the repair of the equipment, and yet somehow, every member of the pack, both platoons, had found something to do fifty paces away at the far end of the square with the Dalemen. Galadwen was alone with Miriel and Finduilas.

"You promised me you would turn it down." Finduilas was clearly crying now, anger in her voice. "You've left me alone."

Miriel's voice buckled, lost its strength, and for a moment her hand reached out as if to touch the taller woman's face. With a quiver, it stopped just short, and was withdrawn slowly.

"The pack needs me, Finduilas. If we were in Lothlorien there would be others, but we are not in Lothlorien, and we are far from home."

"I am alone," Finduilas repeated, and the depth of sorrow in her voice tore at Galadwen's heart.

Miriel shook her head. "I am not far away, and although we cannot be as we were, the pack is here to support you." She leaned in slightly and added. "You are stronger then you know, Fin."

Returning to rest, Miriel looked deep into the eyes of the blonde soldier. "Say goodbye to me, Fin. If I am to be of service to the pack, I need this."

Inhaling deeply, Finduilas drew herself up, struggling to regain composure. "I suppose I will forgive you for this someday, platoon sergeant," she said, and drawing her hand back, punched Miriel solidly in the right eye, sending her backwards onto the seat of her pants. "But not today."

With a quick nod to the downed sergeant, Finduilas strode off southwards towards the soldiers clustered at the far end of the square, a confused Galadwen trailing behind. The Dalemen were there too, but unsure of what had just transpired, they gave the pair a wide berth. The elves seemed more concerned, looks of compassion filling most eyes, and several patting Finduilas on the shoulder as she passed.

Slowing so Galadwen could catch up, Finduilas spoke quietly, "I am sorry you witnessed that. It was improper of me to involve you."

Galadwen placed a hand gently on the distraught woman's shoulder "I am unsure as to what is proper or improper in the military," Galadwen responded softly, "but if you ever feel the need to talk, I will listen."

Finduilis smiled. "i will introduce you to platoon sergeant Maendir." Stopping for a moment and looking at the smaller recruit, she added, "his wife was Lachien."

After the emotional last few moments, it took a moment to sink in, but then she recalled the name. She had stripped the wife of the platoon sergeant for armor that night on the hill. "Morgoth's breath," she cursed quietly.

Finduilas started off again. She was rubbing her face, probably trying to clear away the evidence of her tears. "You are now in the second platoon, 3rd squad 4th position, so if he asks for your post, it's two thirty-four. Understand?"

Galadwen nodded, but Finduilas wasn't looking.

"If you think Borlas is a hard ass, Maendir has him beat by leagues. And I'm not sure how he will respond considering…."

Finduilas left this hanging, and following her through the crowd, Galadwen was led to a table upon which were laid out two sets of mail and assorted weapons. First sergeant Borlas was there using a pair of tongs and a small hammer to replace several missing links in his armor. Next to him was a thin, very tall elf, with pale eyes and an angular, almost drawn face. His hair must have been light colored, almost white, but he had cut it down to a point that it was little more than stubble. Standing next to each other Galadwen noticed for the first time their ranks. Borlas had a small Mallorn tree on his shoulder, a star centered above it, while the thin elf had the same tree, but no star.

"Don't salute," Finduilas whispered. This seemed contrary to the previous practice, but Galadwen took the advice, standing at attention as she was introduced.

"Platoon sergeant," Finduilas did salute. "This is recruit Galadwen. She has been assigned a spot in the third squad."

Maendir returned the salute nonchalantly, without looking up from the helmet he was re-strapping. "Do you know your post, recruit?" he asked, eyes still on the helmet.

"Two thirty-four, platoon sergeant."

Not a flicker of acknowledgement passed over the grim soldier's face. "I need her out of that impractical dress and into a uniform. Find one for her immediately, RO."

Finduilas nodded her head sharply as the platoon sergeant continued.

"She will need sandals, training cannot be conducted in those ankle boots. You have her measurements, I assume?"

"Yes platoon sergeant."

"You and sergeant Miriel had an over under?"

Finduilas glanced sideways at Galadwen, who for the umpteenth time that morning was beginning to blush.

"We did, platoon sergeant," she answered with a sly smile.

"It was?"

"Seven hands two, platoon sergeant."

Maendir nodded, still not looking up from his work. "Over," he said.

Now Finduilas broke into an open smile. "You'd be correct, platoon sergeant."

"How she fit into my Lachien's armor I can't imagine," with this he raised his eyes and fixed them on Galadwen. His face was cold, his eyes colder still, and not a trace of emotion showed through.

The elf maid felt her hands grow numb, standing at attention waiting to hear what Maendir would say next. His eyes were not moving, but she felt as if he were looking her up and down. Yet more measurements. It seemed longer, but after a few seconds, his face dropped back to his work, his hands working methodically on the helmet.

"You will locate the mail, gambison and helmet worn by spear Lachien and ensure that it is properly fitted for this recruit, is that clear RO?"

Galadwen heard Finduilas exhale. "Clear platoon sergeant." She had apparently been holding her breath.

"This girl looks like a soft, overripe pear, but apparently she has strength underneath somewhere." Holding the straps he was working on in place, he raised a small hammer and began tapping a rivet into place. When this was done, the sergeant continued. "You honored my wife's memory by wearing her armor and fighting bravely in it, despite your appalling lack of training." Lifting his head, he put the helmet on, it's nasal dipped just below the tip Maendir's nose, the cheek guards crossing under the eyes, leaving a clear line of sight. Satisfied with the repairs he removed the helmet, placing it on the table in front of him.

"In recognition of your bravery, spear Lachien's kit will become your own, and recruit," the sergeant's cold eyes slid slowly upwards and locked on Galadwen's. "If you ever give me reason to believe that you dishonor the memory of my wife by giving this troop anything other than your best, I will personally rip that kit from your body and you can walk back to Lothlorien naked. Is that clear?"

Galadwen believed every word Maendir said. "Yes platoon sergeant," she replied.

The sergeant's mouth twitched slightly, and he turned his gaze to Finduilas. "When you have found a uniform and sandals, report back here RO. I am sure the training sergeant will have something in mind. To your post."

Finduilas saluted, and spinning on her heel, she beckoned that Galadwen should follow. Returning to the first barracks building, Finduilas explained that she would return in half an hour with uniforms and sandals, and that while she waited, Galadwen should remove all of her old clothing.

"You can keep the linen shift," Finduilas said, "and the boots", but the rest of her clothing would go into storage.

When Finduilas returned, her arms were piled high with clothing. She had several pairs of wool trousers, something Galadwen had never really worn, along with linen tunics, two belts and three pairs of metal studded sandals which laced up to mid calf. All of the clothing fit surprisingly well, proving that Finduilas had done a good job with the measurements.

"You will be issued some money from petty cash so you can go into town and purchase undergarments," Galadwen was told. "We don't carry those in supply, and truthfully, most of the clothing you have is from the dead."

This sent a shiver crawling up the spine of the young elf, a feeling not improved by the next advice she received.

"Make the small clothes tight fitting," Finduilas directed. "We are out from under the trees here, and it is hot in the direct sun. You will be involved nearly all day in strenuous physical activity, and if you do not have clothing that fits tightly between those shapely legs of yours, you'll get a rash." Finduilas said all this without a hint of shame, almost as is she was reciting a recipe for cobbler. "Some great intellectual probably has a proper name for it, but we just call it crotch rot," she added. "Trust me, you don't want to get it."

Her remaining clothes, along with her satchel and comb, were stored in a wooden locker at the foot of one of the beds. She was to share this building with Finduilas and Miriel, being the only three females in the troop. Galadwen chose not to tell Finduilas about the two further crates of clothing and other female essentials still on the longship. She hoped she would be able to get Silima to help her with that, imagining with dread the comments that would come from sergeants Borlas and Maendir if they saw the contents of the boxes.

She pulled on the trousers, finding them surprisingly full in the leg and comfortable, then knotted the drawstring over her shift. The tunic was likewise full and loose, allowing a great deal of freedom for movement. She drew on the soft belt and looped it through its buckle, tightening it at the waist. Finally Finduilas produced four sets of woolen tubes.

"What are those?" Galadwen asked.

Finduilas unrolled a pair, and Galadwen saw they were about three hands long, entirely made of a heavy wool. "They are a type of stocking," the soldier explained. "But instead of tying them under the knee or to the garter, you lace the sandals over them to hold them in place on the foot."

Galadwen took a pair, and rolling them over in her hand, looked at them with suspicion. "A bit hot for these, don't you think?"

Finduilas smiled. "Heat isn't going to be your foot's enemy," she said. "On days when you march 10 leagues, or even 12, these will stop your feet from becoming a puss infected collection of blisters and sores."

Galadwen grimaced at the picture forming in her mind. "It's not likely we will be marching ten leagues today, is it?"

"Probably not," Finduilas conceded. "But I assume the training sergeant isn't planning on you sitting out the rest of the day in the shade."

Pondering that worrying thought, Galadwen donned the odd foot coverings. "What are they called?"

"Socks."

That was a silly name, but after she laced up the sandals, she had to admit that they provided a great deal of padding between her skin and the leather of the shoe. Dressed for the first time in the uniform of the Galadhrim, Galadwen looked herself over with no small amount of pride. She had felt alarmingly out of place in her old clothes. Now at least, she looked like everyone else.

Finduilas led her back outside. Here the troop had once again spread out, small groups working at tables, polishing, repairing or sharpening. Borlas stood near the middle of the activity talking with sergeant Miriel and another soldier with a single spear sewn on his sleeve. As the pair approached, Borlas dismissed Miriel and the other trooper, Miriel giving Finduilas a long look as she left. Finduilas made it clear she was ignoring the platoon sergeant.

"RO and recruit reporting," Finduilas barked. Coming to attention in front of the first sergeant.

Borlas nodded, turning his attention to Galadwen. "You look mildly less ridiculous than you used to," he concluded.

That didn't seem like much of a compliment, but Galadwen still replied, "thank you training sergeant."

"You seem a smart girl," Borlas continued. "Does your education include anything about the flora of this region?"

Galadwen was pleased. Perhaps her education would turn out to be of some use after all. "I have a rudimentary knowledge of the plants here in the north, training sergeant."

Borlas pursed his lips and nodded. "This is good to hear". Turning about he pointed into the distance. "See that tree on the promontory in the distance?"

Galadwen looked past Borlas in the direction he was pointing. Perhaps a league and a half off was a lone tree set on a bluff above the Long Lake. "Yes training sergeant, I do."

Borlas dropped his arm. "That tree has been pissing me off ever since we got here. I must know what type of tree that is, and so, you're going to go up there and find out. Is that clear, recruit?"

Galadwen blinked a few times before answering. "Of course training sergeant."

Borlas seemed pleased. "Damn fine. On the way back you can stop in that bay I mentioned and wash up, so bring towels. Just so you know, in an hour and a half I am going to start sending the other troopers to get washed up as well, so if you don't hurry along, you may find that your tits are hanging out in the breeze when they join you. Understand?"

Galadwen did the math as she responded. A league and a half to the tree, and a league back to the bay. She would have just less than two hours to get a towel, run that distance and get washed up before her privacy disappeared. "I understand completely, training sergeant."

"You will be going with her spear Finduilas."

This seemed to catch Finduilas off guard. "Yes first sergeant."

For the first time, Galadwen heard Borlas soften his voice. "This isn't a punishment, trooper. You need time to get away and run off some of your anger." Then turning to Galadwen he added, "and you could stand to lose a few stone. Report in when you are back."

Galadwen was scandalized. "I am certainly not fat," she thought, but before she could consider this more, Finduilas grabbed her shoulder.

"Lets hustle recruit. I need a bath, and while your tits will look magnificent in the breeze, I am not as blessed."


	16. Rumors

Leindir awoke at least somewhat refreshed.

After the introductions at the central port, guides had led the delegation to a comfortable apartment only minutes away. It spanned most of the third floor of a building just across the central square from the council hall and consisted of an entrance foyer and a large common room, off of which were three bedrooms. The largest bedroom was taken by Leindir and Arawel and had wide windows which opened onto a balcony. From here one could stand and look across the main square to the grand council building, a beautiful structure consuming an entire side of the plaza. Wide stairs ran along its entire front leading up to a broad porch. On this, tall pillars of darkened oak stretched upwards, supporting the overhanging floors. Between the center most two of these pillars was the main entrance, a pair of ornate wooden doors bearing the seal of the city, each five paces wide and perhaps twice as tall.

The other bedrooms were only slightly smaller, but unfortunately without windows. Still, they were comfortable, one being assigned to Aphador and the three soldiers assigned as guards to the ambassador, and the other being taken by Silima.

Once the sleeping arrangements had been settled upon, the senior guide issued orders and within half an hour furniture was being carried through the door. Beds arrived for all the guests, including a particularly large one with posts for Leindir and his wife. Trunks, cupboards and dressers also appeared, along with two writing tables and all the needed accessories. Within two hours the entire apartment had been outfitted, and all of their goods transferred from the longship. Leindir had to admit, it was an impressive showing of logistical efficiency.

With this completed, the guide informed Arawel that he, or one of the other guides, would always be on duty down the hall should they have any needs or questions. Then he presented her with an elegantly written invitation to a formal dinner with the council, along with wives and guests, to begin at 7:15 with light appetizers and drinks. This would be followed by informal meetings and a dance..

This process completed, Arawel sat down and immediately began writing dispatches back to Lothlorien, while Leindir oversaw the unloading of the trunks. This was completed in short order, and as he had not slept in more than 24 hours, the commander disrobed, discarding most of his clothing on the floor in a disorganized heap, and collapsed into bed.

He had awoken to the sound of bells. Arawel was next to him still asleep, with her arm draped across his chest. They had been together for so long, centuries longer than the age they were now living in, and yet he was still amazed at his luck when he saw her lying next to him. "Eru grant us another few ages together," he thought, before gently lifting her arm and sliding out from under the covers.

Pulling on a knee length robe, he crossed the room and opened the double doors to the common room. It had been outfitted with a wide wooden table, eight high backed chairs surrounding it, a settee that looked very comfortable, and a wooden cabinet that seemed stocked with an assortment of alcohol. On the far side of the room where it connected to the foyer, stood two of the soldiers assigned as his guard. They had their backs to him, facing the front doors to the apartments, and were talking quietly with each other.

"Have you soldiers slept?" Leindir crossed the room to the cabinet and began looking at it's contents. Most of it wasn't for elvish tastes, although he was sure it was expensive and of good quality. One bottle however, had clearly been intended for elven pallets.

"We have not, commander," replied the shorter of the two guards. "2nd Aphador and the other guard are sleeping. We will rest later when they are escorting you to the reception banquet."

Leindir removed the stopper from the wine and inhaled. "I think I will be able to guard myself, troopers." The wine was a good, solid red, but not particularly potent. "Both of you get some rest. I will call if lady Arawel or myself have need."

Removing a small goblet from a rack on the cabinet, Leindir poured himself a few fingers of wine. The two guards saluted, and went into the bedroom on the right, closing the door behind them. Taking a small sip, he headed back into the room. It was a fine, full bodied blend, but not spectacular. Still, it was pleasant, and would be quite satisfactory as he determined if the settee was as comfortable as it had first appeared.

"Should I just wait here, commander?"

Leindir nearly dropped his goblet in surprise and turned back towards the foyer. It was Bellamdir, who had apparently been sitting in the waiting room just on the other side of the door. "By the light, scout," Leindir gasped, taking a deep breath to slow his pulse. "I didn't see you there."

The gangly elf shrugged. "It's not important sir," he replied casting a glace at the drink cupboard. "Actually, I'm often overlooked. With your permission, there is a decanter of water over there, and I am a bit parched."

Leindir looked over the stringy Bellamdir once again. "He is an odd one," he thought. Not many troopers would simply ask for a drink from their commander, but it didn't seem that this was arrogance. Certainly his pride in his horsemanship could be thought of as arrogant, but in truth he was by far the best horseman in the troop. Perhaps he was the best in all of Lothlorien, as Leindir had met most of them at one time or another and didn't think a one of them could out ride this fellow. When he talked to superiors like they were equals however, it seemed more that he simply didn't take into account the station of the person he was talking to.

"By all means scout." Leindir turned back to the settee and walking over, stretched out on it's velvet colored pillows. "I think I'll just rest here a bit."

Bellamdir poured himself a tall glass of water, and after taking a long draw, walked to the table in the middle of the room. Flipping a chair around, he sat on it backwards. "I was thinking that couch looked comfy," the scout said after another gulp.

It was in fact very comfortable. Leindir would have to be careful or the settee and the wine would combine to have him asleep again in no time. To avoid this, he looked for something to talk about. "Did you hear the bells, scout?"

Bellamdir nodded. "Yes sir. They're used to keep time. You were hearing the hour bell. It's deeper and slower then the quarter bell. There were three chimes for three in the afternoon." Bellamdir took another drink, and then kept going. "The quarter bell is higher in pitch and faster. You'll hear it strike once soon, then twice for the half and three times for a quarter till. It seems there's a guild that keeps the time here and has a magnificently accurate clock that can run all year. They re-calibrate it at dawn on the summer solstice and…"

"Stop." Leindir sat up and turned towards the scout. "How do you know this?"

Bellamdir drew the corner of his mouth back as if he wasn't sure how to answer. "I asked," he said after a slight pause.

The commander blinked at the rather simple response. "You asked whom?"

"Well that's an interesting story," the scout began. "It first came up when…"

"Stop." Leindir could see this explanation lasting into the small hours of the morning if he didn't get the conversation focused. "I really don't need the details, scout Bellamdir. A general outline would be sufficient."

Bellamdir shrugged his slim shoulders. "Well, it's a good story," he sighed, seemingly disappointed he wasn't going to get to tell it. "Lady Arawel had me ride here yesterday with instructions as to how many of us were coming, details like that sir."

Leindir knew this and nodded, so Bellamdir continued. "After that news was delivered, and as you were delayed, I had some of yesterday afternoon and the entire night to wander around Laketown." He downed the last of his water, and walking back to the cabinet, poured himself some more as he continued. "Of course, I talked to as many people as I could and learned all sorts of things about the town, the people and their lives. When I heard the bells, I asked about those."

As if on cue, a single, high pitched chime echoed through the city. "A quarter after three?" Leindir asked.

"Exactly sir."

"That's efficient."

Bellamdir agreed with a vigorous nod.

"So these people were open with you?" Leindir asked.

"Oh yes sir. It seems they are quite used to elves, and I think they assumed I was just an oddly dressed wood elf." The scout sat back down again, his chair still reversed. "However, when I told them I was from Lothlorien, they got very interested and began asking all sorts of questions themselves."

"Such as?"

"Mostly about Lady Galadriel, her spells and cauldrons of magic elixirs."

Leindir chuckled. "Her what?"

Bellamdir smiled too. "They seem to have a rather incorrect view of our Lady," he said. "She is a witch and a temptress who uses her powers to lure unwary men into the forest. This makes them afraid of her of course, but also a bit aroused."

Leindir nearly choked on his wine when he heard this. "I'm sorry, scout. Did I hear you correctly?"

"Yes sir, I'm sure you did. You see there is a rumor, one of many concerning our Lady unfortunately, that she takes men into the depths of the Golden Wood to have relations with them and bear their half breed children. Now this naturally scares them, but as she is supposedly the most beautiful woman in Middle Earth, it excites them a bit as well."

Leindir shook his head in dismay. "And you dissuaded them of this, I hope?"

Bellamdir looked confused. "Not at all sir," he replied.

The commander was aghast. "By the Light of Iluvatar, why not?"

"Because she quite probably is the most attractive woman in Middle Earth."

"Morgoth's codpiece," the commander roared. "Not her looks you buffoon, the first part."

The scout looked chagrined. "I'm sorry sir. Yes, of course I told them that wasn't true. In fact I explained clearly that in my 700 or so years in Lothlorien I had not seen our lady fornicating on even one occasion."

The commander's eyes widened. "I need a drink," he thought, and downing the last half of his wine in a single belt, he placed the empty goblet on a small table next to the settee. "Thank you for your report scout," he said in a measured voice, "and I apologize for my insulting you just now. That was uncalled for."

Bellamdir nodded respectfully in response. "That's quite all right, commander. That opinion is shared by many, which of course is of great benefit to me."

That was not the response the commander had expected, and he narrowed his eyes slightly looking closely at the long limbed soldier. Bellamdir however was looking intently to his right.

"Good afternoon Lady Arawel," he said in a light voice, rising from his chair. "I hope you slept well?"

Arawel, wearing a robe similar to Leindir's, stifled a small yawn. "I did scout, thank you." Then, looking at her husband she added, "did I hear you mention a codpiece, commander?"

Leindir smiled sheepishly. "I'm afraid some news scout Bellamdir delivered caused me to use rather colorful language."

Arawel nodded as if she understood. "Yes. I overheard much of that conversation as well." With this she walked over to the table and took the seat opposite Bellamdir. "These rumors are quite repulsive. I don't know why the council allows them to flourish."

Leindir returned to the cupboard and replaced the goblet. "It's not as if they can arrest someone for spreading a rumor," he reminded his wife. "I am sure that as the people of Laketown come to know more about Lothlorien, much of this will die away." The commander turned back to the table, and seeing Bellamdir lounging again in his chair, he decided enough was enough. "Scout, you should be at rest when reporting information either to myself or Lady Arawel."

Bellamdir sprung to his feet, sliding the chair back under the table. Assuming rest, he looked at Arawel apologetically. "I am sorry lady Arawel. I forget myself sometimes."

Leindir rolled his eyes slightly. "Sometimes understates the matter," he thought, and looking past the thin soldier, he saw a similar look in his wife's eyes.

"I do not hold it against you, good Bellamdir," Arawel said with a knowing smile to her husband. "At any rate, we all owe you a great debt for your bringing aid to us with such haste. I don't doubt you saved many lives." Arawel looked pointedly at her husband when she said this.

Bellamdir smiled, and bowed somewhat awkwardly to lady Arawel. "You are very kind, my lady," he replied. "But I could do little else other than my best. You are all my friends, and I would never abandon my friends when they were in such need."

Leindir saw the surprise on his wife's face, as he was sure she saw on his. He could imagine a modest response along the lines of, "just doing my duty", but that a soldier would consider it a service of friendship? That was not the standard response.

Arawel stood up, and walking around the table, extended her hand to the startled looking scout. After a moment's hesitation, he reached out to her, and Arawel took his hand in both of hers. "You gave back to me something I don't think I could have borne the loss of." She said this to the nervous Bellamdir, but was looking at her husband. "Because of this gift, I am honored to call you a friend." She held his hand warmly, and the scout lost his nervous look and began to smile.

"In return," she continued, "I wish to give you a gift of my own. Where is my horse, the one you rode to deliver the news to Esgaroth?"

"Elen?" The scout asked.

Leindir shook his head slightly. Here was yet another surprise. Elves did not often name animals, or keep pets. It was not from lack of love for animals, but more that they thought their place was in the wild, not in a cage. They trained horses, but as cavalry was nearly useless in a forest, their use was restricted to scouting and the delivery of messages. Another reason, not spoken of but probably the stronger, had to do with elven immortality. They simply didn't wish to suffer the loss of a dear animal perhaps hundreds of times in their lives. They avoided the pain of loss by not loving them at all. And yet, Bellamdir had named his mount.

"You have named him Elen," Arawel said with an approving nod. "And a star he is, a great light that brought us aid when we most needed it."

Bellamdir was beaming now, and the commander thought he saw tears in his eyes. "I am glad you approve, Lady Arawel. He has rested in Laketown after nearly dying on the ride here. But Elen has recovered now and tethered below. I have kept him as my mount so that I might return him to his mistress."

Arawel shook her head. "Elen is yours now, I give him to you as a token of my thanks. It is nothing….:

Leindir was sure his wife had several minutes more of flowery praise to lavish on the awkward young scout, but her monologue was suddenly interrupted by Bellamdir flinging himself forwards and wrapping his arms around her in an emotional embrace.

"Oh my lady," he sobbed, tears now flowing down his face, "I have loved that horse that since the first afternoon, since before we even crossed the Celduin." He had gripped Arawel tightly and her shocked face stared questioningly over the scout's shoulder at Leindir. The commander smiled back broadly, and would have laughed, had he not thought it would embarrass Bellamdir. "I will treat him as my child," the sobbing soldier continued. "He will be as dear to me as all of you are."

Arawel slowly began prying herself away from the overcome elf. "Well, it is good that our gift to you is so well received," she said, finding a handkerchief somewhere in her gown and handing it to over so that Bellamdir could clean his face. "With luck the rumors that swirl around us and our Lady will be laid to rest just as easily."

Having dried his tears somewhat, Bellamdir blew his nose and dropped the sodden piece of cloth on the table, to a disgusted look from Arawel. "Unfortunately, my lady, I don't think that is likely in the near future.."

Arawel drew a deep breath. "What have you heard, scout?"

Bellamdir went to pull out the chair, but remembering himself, returned to rest. "Several times today during the early afternoon I was asked about the great gala that is to be held this evening in the council hall."

Arawel sniffed. "It is a reception," she corrected. "Hardly a gala."

Bellamdir conceded this point with a nod. "I am sure, my lady," he agreed. "But more important than the word used, what struck me was their belief that the lady Galadriel would be attending, that it was in fact in her honor."

Arawel pushed her hair back from her face, her frustration clear. "By the fourteen, where did that idea come from?"

Leindir thought he knew, but Bellamdir was thinking along the same lines. "Several people relayed to me that our lady had been seen walking the roads of Laketown," he went on. " As our Lady's actual presence here seemed unlikely, my assumption was…"

"Galadwen," Arawel cut in, and began pacing the length of the table.

Seeing this, Leindir stepped in, nodding to Bellamdir appreciatively in thanks for his bringing this to their attention. "The people of Esgaroth know very little of lady Galadriel," Leindir began, "but what they do know is her description."

Arawel nodded. "And Galadwen had the only head of golden hair in the delegation."

"And her beauty," Bellamdir chimed in. "Galadwen really is very beautiful."

Turning, Leindir patted the scout warmly on the shoulder. His wife was still a bit touchy about Galadwen, both concerning the incident in the pavilion, and the attention she had received at South End. "Thank you for your information," he said with a warm smile while guiding Bellamdir towards the door to the foyer. "Perhaps if you could wait in there, we will call you when we need you." Returning to the main room, he found his wife still pacing.

"I am not sure whether this is for good or ill," she said without looking at her husband. "How do you think the council and master will respond to this rumor?"

Leindir had no idea, and said as much. "Belem is much more knowledgeable when it comes to this city," Leindir pointed out. "If you want an informed opinion, I would ask him."

Arawel nodded in agreement. "Lets see if we can find him."

Returning to the foyer, he found Bellamdir sitting in one of the chairs, backwards again. "Scout. Do you know where captain Belem is at this time?"

Unfolding his thin body from the chair, Bellamdir rose. "I believe so, yes sir," he answered. "King Bard is across the square residing in apartments within the council hall. I saw the captain entering some hours ago, and believe he would be with the king."

"That was good news," Leindir thought. "Find him if possible scout, and ask him if he would join myself and lady Arawel in our apartments as soon as he has time." Considering his wife's mood he added. "It would be appreciated if he could make haste, as lady Arawel has pressing questions for him."

Bellamdir came to attention, saluted, and hurried from the room.

Heading back into the apartments, the commander returned to the room he shared with his wife. Arawel was already there pouring a basin of water in which to wash her face and generally clean up. Closing the door behind him, he stripped off the robe and began looking through his trunk for clothing. Settling on his field uniform, he dressed quickly. Arawel was changing too, choosing a simple white gown and slippers. When he was dressed, Leindir joined his wife on the balcony. She was standing at the railing looking intently across the plaza towards the council chambers. Standing beside her, Leindir put an arm around her shoulder, and she pressed in close to him.

"You have something in mind, dearest," the commander said softly.

His wife nodded. "I will wait to hear what Belem has to say," she replied, "but perhaps we can use these absurd rumors to our advantage."

He could almost see the plan forming in his wife's mind, but Leindir kept quiet, waiting too for the arrival of the Captain of Dale. It wasn't a long wait, a knock coming on their bedroom door just as the quarter bell rang three times. Bellamdir had returned with Belem, who was waiting in the main room. Silima was up as well, eating some fruit from a bowl in the main table.

Arawel took charge. "Thank you Bellamdir," she began. "If you could wait in the entry room until we call you. Silima, if you could go down the hall, there should be one of the guides from this morning on duty there. Ask them if they can bring you a sewing kit for cloth, including some fine thread of either white or silver."

Silima nodded deferentially and both she and Bellamdir left, closing the door to the entry room behind them. Arawel left as well, heading back into her chambers and beckoning Belem and Leindir to follow. "Have a seat, gentleman," she said, closing the heavy double doors behind them. "Thank you for coming so quickly captain. I'm sorry I can't offer you more hospitality, but I have a few questions I need answered."

Leindir had found a seat, but despite the invitation, the captain remained standing. "I will answer them as best I can, lady Arawel," Belem replied.

Arawel smiled stiffly. "Have you heard the rumor concerning lady Galadriel being here in Esgaroth?"

Belem smiled and nodded. "That traveled fast," he confirmed. "It is a result of lady Galadwen and her golden hair."

Arawel nodded curtly, her face tight. "That was my next question. You know this rumor centers around Galadwen?"

"I do my lady. It is our fault, as we didn't consider this possibility and failed to conceal her as we entered the city. Furthermore, she was seen by hundreds as she and I traveled to the main gate. One could hear the whispers as we walked."

Arawel rubbed her forward and sighed. "I should have thought of that."

Belem disagreed. "None of us considered it," he replied, "and as I know the description of the Lady of the Golden Wood, and am far more aware of how rumors spread in a city like Laketown, if any should have thought of this issue, it was I."

Leindir smiled at the captain "Thank you Belem, but I don't think this was foreseeable."

"Well it is what it is," Arawel continued. "Will the master hear of this rumor?"

"He took notice of Galadwen before she even left the plaza," Belem answered. "One of his spies followed me and the lady Galadwen as we left the city." This raised the eyebrows of both Leindir and Arawel. "As for whether he has heard the rumor? I would be shocked if it has not already gotten back to him"

Arawel considered this. "You know the master far better than we do. How do you believe he'll respond to this rumor?"

Belem considered this for a moment. "I know very little about the man first hand," Belem began. "He and I do not travel in the same social circles." Seeing Arawel's look of disbelief, the captain raised his hands defensively. "Of course I do try and keep tabs on him, but I want you to know this is second hand."

"Of course," Arawel replied in an exasperated tone.

Belem nodded. "Ranulf is not Master of Laketown because he is wise. It is not because he is bold, or clever. He is master because he is cautious, paranoid even, and as such he is predictable. I doubt he would be so foolish as to believe Galadriel herself would make the trip to Esgaroth and attempt to hide her presence, but that her daughter or someone in her family would be sent in that capacity, that he may find plausible. Without certain knowledge of who Galadwen is, I believe he will worry that some sort of trap is being laid, and he will proceed slowly."

Arawel nodded. "That is good. Thank you captain, your input is appreciated."

Crossing the room, Arawel opened the doors. "Silima, come here please."

The elven girl stepped into the bedroom, nodding in greeting to captain Belem. "The Lakeman at the desk down the hall said the sewing kit will be here within thirty minutes, my lady."

"That is good." Arawel went to one of her trunks. Opening it, she began rummaging about. "If I gave you a gown, would you be able to hem it so that it fit young Galadwen?"

"I can imagine Galadwen in comparison to yourself, my lady," Silima replied after brief thought. "If you were to wear the dress as I pinned it, I could make a solid guess."

"In an hour?."

"Yes my lady."

"Excellent." Arawel continued to search through her trunk. "Please come to me immediately when the kit arrives, and tell Bellamdir I will have a delivery for him by six this evening and that he needs to be ready."

With a tight bow of her head, Silima turned and left the room.

"Well gentlemen," Arawel said, removing several items from the trunk and dropping them on the bed. "It looks like tonight's event will be a gala after all."


	17. Family

The first leg of the trip went quickly, traveling back down the road he had come up the night before. Bain and the guards talked and joked as they rode, little attention given to security as this part of the north had been safe since the death of Smaug. Earendil loped along next to them, talking less as he had to regulate his breathing as he ran, but still involving himself in the banter when he could and laughing at the numerous jokes made. The moon was waning, but still large though clouds hid it frequently with periods of time passing in deep darkness. Not that this was much of a worry with the broad paving stones of the dwarven road solid beneath them. They followed the road through the darkness of early morning, and as the sun was beginning to rise in the east, passed the bridge that arced across the River Running to Riversmouth.

Looking to the far shore, Earendil could see dark forms moving in the early morning gloom, a few fishermen heading for their boats, or farmers moving to their fields east of town. The clouds had grown more scattered as the night became morning, and a beautiful orange glow had spread across them. For a moment, Earendil wondered where Galadwen was, if she were looking on this glorious morning as well, but he didn't have much time for dreams Turning westward, he stepped off of the flagstones and onto the rutted dirt road that hugged the entire western shore of the Long Lake.

"I was thinking of stopping in about a league," said Bain from a pace or two behind. "There is a small bay with boulders to sit on, grass and a creek for the horses."

Earendil nodded. He knew the spot and it would suit them well.

"I hope you brought something to eat," Bain added.

"Yes I did."

"Damn good thing," the prince replied. "I'm starving."

Earendil knew he should have expected something like that, but choosing not to respond, he slowed his pace on the rougher ground settling in to run a little farther. Soon they crossed a well maintained wooden bridge, and rising out of a small draw, left the road and headed towards the lake where a small hillock sat on the edge of the water. It was strewn with large, rounded rocks, the wash they had just crossed bordering it on one side, a lively creek bubbling into quieter, deeper waters.

The riders dismounted, stretching tired legs and backs, before beginning the process of unsaddling their mounts. The horses were well trained and would graze, drink and wander a bit, but not go far. Having the saddles removed would allow them to dry off and recuperate. Earendil sat on a rock, stretching his legs in front of him. He was wearing thick stockings and light, flexible boots that laced to just above his ankle. These he would leave on, having learned from experience that removing them made his feet tender, and getting underway again very uncomfortable. It had not gotten warm yet, and there was a gentle breeze coming in from the south west. Looking that way he could see Laketown in the distance. They had made good time, and when they got on the road again, it would be a little more than two hours until they arrived in the city.

Bain joined him about fifteen minutes later, having seen to the mounts. All five of the horses had trotted off to the creek, Mithril nipping at the bays trying to get them riled up, but failing. Before he asked, Earendil split his lunch and handed a portion to his friend. Bain smiled, said his thanks, and sitting down in the grass with his back to the rock, started with the cheese.

"This is good stuff," he commented after a few bites. "I will have to thank your mother."

"My mother didn't make it. It's Kona's work."

Bain considered that for a moment. "I'm a fellow that likes to eat," he said. "Perhaps she is marrying material after all."

Earendil chuckled softly. "I don't think so friend," he said. "I've seen you with your girls, and you like to kiss. A lot."

Bain smiled and nodded.

"So I don't think you'd enjoy having to pick small red hairs off of your tongue every few minutes."

Bain scrunched up his face. "Eughh. Not while I'm eating."

The two boys laughed, their banter traveling to other places. Time passed and the soldiers went to round up the horses who were all together down where the creek met the lake, blowing and stomping.

Suddenly, a thought struck Earendil from nowhere. "Bain? Last night, did you say you sent Ithruin to the Kings Cup?"

This was a sudden change of subject, and it took the prince a moment to focus. "Umm. Yes. Described the place and told him to ask about it if he got lost. Why?"

"I wasn't at the inn. I was sitting on the river wall near Bend Bridge."

Bain considered this for a moment, and then shrugged. "What does it matter? He found you."

Earendil pressed on. "Yes he found me, but how?"

"I don't know, 'Dil," the prince replied in an exasperated voice. "He's a bit of a lost soul, so he probably headed in the entirely wrong direction and just saw you. You are hard to miss."

That was true, but didn't feel right. Earendil looked down the low hill towards the horses. The soldiers were trying to attach their leads, but the animals seemed distressed. He inhaled deeply, trying to gather his thoughts, and immediately caught the scent. Cursing himself for his lack of attention, he grabbed his staff and leaping to his feet, spun into the wind.

The bear was enormous and just 40 paces away. Even sitting as it was, it was 14 or 15 hands. The lad could only guess at the weight, but perhaps twice that of the horses, and they were nearly 90 stone. It's coat was thick and black, shining in the morning light, and its eyes were fixed on Earendil, its head tilted slightly to the left.

"Oh by the light!" Bain had just spotted what Earendil had seen, and leaping to his feet looked about for his blade. "Shite. My sword is back with the packs."

Earendil could see Bain's thoughts. Could he get to his pack and unsheathe his blade before the massive creature crushed him. "Just go help the soldiers with the horses." Earendil said, starting to walk slowly forwards.

Bain reached out and grabbed his friend's arm. "By the Father, where are you going?" There was a pause before the prince said. "Is that….?"

Earendil nodded. "Go help with the horses. The guards can't handle Mithril when he's spooked."

Bain began backing away slowly. "I'll go do that. I'm a little spooked myself."

Earendil smiled slightly at that, and laying his staff back down against the rock, walked firmly towards the great bear. As he neared, the beast rose slowly onto his rear legs, towering over the silver haired form before it. Earendil had to admit he was awed. He couldn't remember the last time he had ever looked up at any living thing, unless it was a tree, and the black mountain of fur in front of him made him look tiny. Stopping in the shadow of the great creature, Earendil looked up at it's face, which in turn was looking intently down at him. Then, taking a half step forward, he wrapped his arms as far around the bear as he could, burying his face in the soft fur.

"You should change back, Father," the boy said. "You are scaring the poor horses."

A paw fell heavily on his shoulder, the bear hugging him back as best he could. And then Earendil felt a great warmth flow through the massive body. Releasing his grip and stepping back, Earendil watched the great bear begin to shrink and reform. The snout withdrew and the eyes grew closer together. Fur, teeth and claws were replaced by skin, and hands. Within moments the bear was gone, replaced by a large, bearded man in loose fitting leather clothes.

"I should have stayed a bear," the man said in a deep, gruff voice. "In this form, my little boy is taller than me."

And indeed he was, although only by a few fingers. Reaching out, Earendil grabbed his father by the shoulders and pulled him into another embrace. "It's wonderful to see you father," Earendil said, his voice a little choked with emotion. "I can't remember the last time you came to visit."

Beorn returned the embrace, pulling his son in tightly. "That's because I've never visited," he replied. "The last time I was in these parts it was to kill goblins beneath the gates at Erebor." Looking past Earendil's shoulder he asked, "Who's the cowering little whelp by the rocks?"

Turning, he saw Bain had just walked up from the shore, leading Mithril. He did seem to be cowering, placing the horse between himself and the large stranger, watching him from under Mithril's chest.

"That cowering whelp would be crown prince Bain," Earendil said with a laugh. "Don't be so hard on him father. You underestimate your effect on people."

Beorn gave an acknowledging grunt, but said nothing

Earendil laughed loudly again, once more pulling his father in. "Come, let me introduce you."

Seeing the pair approaching, Bain handed off the lead to one of the guards, whose eyes opened wide, noticing the new arrival for the first time. Bain said a few words, assuring the soldiers things were in hand, and straightening his tunic, put on a brave face. Striding forward to meet them, he stretched out his hand. "I've heard so much about you, my lord," he said with a broad, nervous smile.

Beorn looked him in the eye, then looked at his extended hand. "I am no Lord," he said in a growl. "And I'm sure what you've heard about me is nonsense, other than the part about me tearing the limbs off of people I don't like."

Bain's smile faded, but he bravely kept his hand extended.

"Father," Earendil said shaking his head. "Must you always threaten people the first time you meet them? He's trying to be friendly."

"I find a good threat sets the mood," his father replied, "lets them know the rules right from the start." But seeing his son's insistent look, Beorn sighed, and grabbed the princes wrist. "Well, despite your cowering and unimpressive bearing, your sire is a good man, perhaps the best I've ever known. I suppose I can hope you aren't too much of a disappointment to him."

Earendil grinned and patted his friend on the shoulder. "I'm afraid that is was passes for a compliment from my father. Come, sit and talk. I didn't think I would be seeing you for a more than a month yet."

Beorn shook his head. "Sorry son. I must speak with your mother on an urgent matter and need to be in Dale before nightfall." At this is smiled slightly before continuing. "A stranger like me is threatening enough to the town guard in broad daylight." Turning to look his son in the eyes he added. "I was hoping to speak with you and your mother both."

Earendil was saddened by this news. He had hoped to spend some hours with his father, perhaps more if he agreed to go with them to Esgaroth. "That's too bad," he replied, "but I won't be long. I intend to be back in Dale tomorrow night, or the afternoon after that at the latest. Surely you can stay a few days, a week perhaps?"

Reaching forward with both hands, Beorn placed them on either side of his sons face and looked deeply at him. "I can do that for you son, no matter how much I dislike crowds. I'm afraid it's a week at most. I have business back in the Anduin, but I must have words with you before I go." He grabbed his son and hugged him once more. "It was good fortune that I chose the southern path. I had thought to see this new road the dwarves had built along the Celduin, but fate put your scent on the wind."

Earendil could feel his father had to leave, and he tried to think of ways to delay it. But Beorn was not a man to change his mind, so the boy promised himself to finish his business in Laketown and return home as soon as possible. "I will be home quickly, father." He promised. "We will have plenty of time to talk."

He was emotional as they bid farewell, but kept it to himself. His father left without many more words, walking back to the road and turning down into the wash. As the others saddled their horses, Earendil kept an eye on the road hoping to see the big man once more as he rose out of the wash on the far side of the bridge, but he never reappeared. Earendil assumed he had changed back into a bear, moving up the creek under the cover of the trees. In a few minutes the others were ready, and they set of westward following the road. The coast would bend southwards in a few leagues, leading along cliffs towards Esgaroth, and with luck they would at it's gates two hours before midday, as Bain had planned. There wasn't much talking at this point, meeting with Beorn had left each of them with their own thoughts, however as the road turned south for it's last leg to Laketown, Bain nudged his mount forward to ride alongside his friend.

"I saw him transform," he said.

Earendil nodded, the rhythm of his strides pounding in his head.

"I don't think I'll sleep for a week."

Earendil laughed softly. "It's not that bad."

"It's bloody terrifying," Bain disagreed. "It's disturbing and unnatural."

Earendil glanced over at his friend. "You're saying my father is unnatural?"

Realizing the implication, Bain apologized. "I'm sorry, 'Dil. That came out wrong and I didn't think about what I was saying."

Earendil could think of innumerable times the crown prince had said something without thinking about it. This was a flaw he would have to control if he were to be king someday. Still, he rarely said sorry for for his words afterwards, so Earendil took the apology as sincere.

"It's just that my father told me about Beorn, about who he was and what he did during the Battle of Five Armies," Bain went on. "But seeing it is completely different. I couldn't imagine it was real."

Earendil nodded. "My father is as real as it gets, old friend."

He heard the prince laugh briefly at this. "I need to wash the road off of me, 'Dil", he said. "I brought some towels, and there's a place about a league off, a small bay, sheltered with trees and rocks. We could get cleaned up there."

"Did you bring towels for the six of us?"

Bain looked back at the guards. "No. I have three." pausing for a moment, Bain thought it over. "You know, we're only a few leagues from the city now, and if anyone was out doing evil, your father would've scared them off."

Earendil smiled and his friend continued.

"I'll send the guards ahead to find out where Estrid lives, and where my father is housed, that way I can track her down, and be clean when I meet her." Bain seemed pleased with this plan. "Two birds with one arrow."

Earendil considered the options. He wasn't too keen on bathing in the open, although it was still a common practice. He supposed he had become spoiled when his mother added the bath room to their apartment at the Cup. Still, he was a sweaty mess and had a noticeable odor of bear upon him. After more than eight hours on the road, he could certainly use a good scrubbing.

The guards headed off at a trot without too much resistance. Bain went a lot of places without them, and none of them could see much in the way of threats this close to Esgaroth. Earendil and Bain continued at a moderate pace, soon turning off the main road and traveling about ten minutes towards the lake. The last 200 paces wound down a steep bank to a narrow bay, leaving them on a rocky beach a short distance from the main lake. Letting Mithril wander, Bain unpacked a small bag which contained several towels and two blocks of soap.

"You should try this," Bain said, tossing a block to Earendil.

Unlike the soap his mother made, this was cream in color and smooth. Inhaling, Earendil looked up at his friend. "Is that lavender?"

Bain nodded. "The handmaids at the hall bought this for my father," he said. "It was supposedly brought from the east by a mysterious trader with an odd name. It's made with an oil that comes from a plant of some sort." Bain took a big sniff. "They scent it with lavender or citrus, and the maids say it leaves your skin soft and smooth."

Earendil raised his eyebrows incredulously, and began stripping off his boots and trousers. Bain began disrobing as well.

"Yeah," Bain agreed in response to his friend's suspicious look, "my father feels the same way about it. But trust me, it leaves your skin clean and smelling good." He held up his bar and inhaled again. "The girls really like it."

Untying his small-clothes, Earendil hung them with the rest on the branch of a tree growing from the hillside. "Since it's the only soap I have, I'll give a try," he said taking his first steps into the water. It was cool, but not cold, and when he reached waist deep, he dove in headfirst.

He spent about ten minutes lathering up and washing off. He had to admit, the new soap made him feel cleaner, and the smell was pleasant, but he had no idea if it softened his skin. Bain was also rinsing off, so washing the last of the suds from his hair, Earendil waded up onto the rocky beach. Dropping the soap onto Bain's leather bag, he began wiping the excess water from his body.

Lifting his eyes suddenly to the right, he focused on the sound he had just heard. A voice he thought, but he couldn't be sure. Bain, walking from the water to Earendil's left stopped, noticing the look of concentration on his friend's face.

"What's is it?"

He looked hard at the top of the ridge, inhaling deeply. The soap made it hard to tell, but he thought there were two people on the ridge above. As the lavender cleared, he realized they couldn't be very far away since the air in the bay was so still. Then his eyes widened as the realization set in.

"What is it?" Bain repeated.

Grabbing his towel from the branch, Earendil flung it around his waist.

"It's her hair," he whispered.


	18. A Revealing Encounter

Finduilas set a hard pace. She had left the camp heading west, turning north after a hundred paces onto the main coastal road. Here the lithe, muscular woman lengthened her stride, keeping a few steps ahead of her smaller companion as they ran along the wide dirt road.

Galadwen had thought to have some words with her RO. She could tell Finduilas was suffering, but didn't fully understand why. Miriel's role might have changed, but there were many other members of the troop that would support her. Certainly it couldn't be that bad? Quickening her pace slightly, she tried to run alongside the taller woman, but each time she did Finduilas increased her stride to match, maintaining her distance. Galadwen attempted to keep up, but the lanky elf ran like she was born to it, strides smooth and measured, effortlessly flowing across the ground. Galadwen considered herself in good physical condition, but quickly realized Finduilas could run her recruit into the ground without taking a deep breath.

Accepting this, Galadwen gave up her effort at conversation, focusing instead on running and on the land around her. They were a few hundred paces from the lake, the land sloping downwards to the water on their right. To her left she could see a distant line of trees. Mirkwood lay beyond rolling land threaded through by numerous water filled gullies and washes, with the open land between mostly bare and recently plowed. This was something her maps back in Lothlórien didn't relay. On paper, Esgaroth was a mark on a sheet of paper, the city where the men of the Long Lake lived, while in reality it was just the hub.

Dirt cart paths headed west from the main road at regular intervals leading to distant clusters of buildings set amidst wide fields. Laketown was not a dot on a map, but a broad, fertile strip lining the lake for several leagues north of the Forest River. While relatively straight, the road was far from level, dropping repeatedly into small gullies, each one with a noisy cascade of water at the bottom bubbling under a wooden bridge. The road was also far from empty, as they passed farmers leading livestock, tinkers hauling pots and metal-ware, or carts carrying numerous other goods. Each of these people looked with surprise at the two elven women as they ran by, one of them now puffing and sweating profusely. Galadwen tried to make a good impression, at first offering each of them a smile or a wave as she passed, but after half a league this became a challenge, and when a league had passed she no longer had the strength to bother.

After about an hour of hard running, they rose from yet another ravine and finally saw their goal perhaps 1000 paces ahead and off the road to the right. Getting yet more odd looks, this time from a quartet of mounted men in the colors of Dale, they left the road running past a farmstead which, by the smell of it, raised swine. The tree was several hundred paces past the farm, and Finduilas accelerated as they neared their destination, leaving an exhausted Galadwen behind. Arriving half a minute later, The exhausted woman bent over under the lone tree, hands on her knees gasping for breath.

"It's a damn Cypress," Galadwen said under her breath, "and I hope Borlas bloody well chokes on it."

"You've got five minutes to rest." Finduilas was about 20 paces off, walking towards the lake.

Galadwen waved an acknowledgement, but didn't straighten up. She spent the next few minutes getting her breath back, before straightening and looking for her RO. Finduilas had walked some distance off looking out onto the great body of water, her form silhouetted against the lake. Striking out towards her, Galadwen determined she would find a way to lighten the woman's mood, but at ten paces, Finduilas's hand shot up.

"I don't need to hear your thoughts on this, recruit," she said sharply, without turning around. "Firstly, you know nothing about it, and secondly, it's none of your damn business."

Galadwen had to concede both these points, but decided to go ahead anyway. "I know I'm new, and don't understand what's happened in regards to Miriel."

Finduilas let out a short, derisive laugh. "Damn right you don't."

Galadwen kept walking, and drew up parallel to Finduilas a pace or two to her right, also looking out into the lake. They were on a promontory maybe twenty fathoms over the water, and from here Galadwen could see all the way to South End, and looking north east, she saw the Celduin. Here it emptied into the lake, passing under a gray, stone bridge that led to a small hamlet. She wasn't sure how far off the opposite shore was, perhaps three leagues, but the view was magnificent.

"I don't know Miriel or you very well," she admitted. "But as we are the only three women in the troop, I imagine we will be spending a lot of time together."

Finduilas raised her eyebrows and nodded reluctantly. "You and I will, certainly. And the platoon sergeant will share quarters with us here in Esgaroth, as no suitable officers quarters are available for females." Her head now dropped slightly, "but if you think she will be spending time together with us, you are mistaken."

Galadwen wasn't sure how this could be true. Certainly as they shared living quarters, Miriel simply wouldn't ignore them. Still, the rules when it came to the military were still unknown to her, so she tried a different approach. "Miriel isn't the only one in the troop, Finduilas," she said in a reassuring tone. "You will find other troopers to spend time with." This last statement sounded like she was talking to a sullen 9 year old and she regretted the tone. But truthfully, she couldn't understand she had this fixation on one friend when so many others in the troop seemed to support and like her.

Finduilas kept her head down. "Of course I will spend time with others. Don't be ridiculous. I am not a spoiled child spurned by the popular kids." Raising her head, she spun and began walking back towards the cypress tree. "Get ready to run again. You still have your towel?"

Galadwen nodded, checking that it was still secured around her waist under her tunic, but following her RO, she kept up the questioning. "Look. I know you're here to watch over me, make sure I toe the line and learn what I have to learn."

Finduilas grunted in agreement, and Galadwen continued. "But if we are going to be spending all this time together, I would like to think that I can become a good soldier, and be a good friend as well."

The lanky soldier snorted and shook her head. "This isn't a problem you can solve, recruit."

Galadwen nodded in agreement. "Perhaps not, but I can understand it, and maybe if I understand I can at least give you some support."

"I don't need your understanding."

"Maybe so, but could it hurt?"

They were nearly back at the tree, and sighing deeply, Finduilas stopped. "Miriel and I were close, Galadwen," she explained, without looking at the other woman.

"OK. That was a start," Galadwen thought. "I saw how the other troopers sympathized with you, Finduilas," she resplied. "I'd say they are all your friends."

Shaking her head, Finduilas turned and looked the other elf in the eyes. "I just met you," she started in a incredulous tone, "but are you really that bloody naive? I told you we were close, not friends. We were very, very close."

Galadwen was confused, and unsure as to how she was seeming naive. Yes they were close, but the others seemed concerned and cared for….

"Oh dear…" Galadwen's eyes widened.

"A hah!" Finduilas threw her hands up. "It seems you've had an epiphany."

Galadwen's nod of understanding was barely perceptible. "You're saying you were lovers," she whispered.

Finduilas closed her eyes and pushed her hand through her hair. "I really didn't think it had to stated out loud, but yes."

"That's allowed?" Galadwen said in an astonished voice.

The taller elf drew herself up and stepped forward assertively. "You think I need someone else's permission, recruit?"

Galadwen shook her head emphatically. "I'm so sorry Finduilas, that's not what I meant."

Seeing the look of concern in Galadwen's eyes, Finduilas relaxed. "Perhaps you should tell me what you did mean then."

"It's just that I didn't know the military allowed such..." Galadwen struggled for the word.

"Affairs?" Finduilas suggested.

"Perhaps relationships is better," Galadwen offered back.

Finduilas shrugged. "They don't care one way or another. If you pull your weight as a soldier and keep it between yourselves, it's your business not the troops."

Galadwen nodded, understanding. "Can I tell you something personal, Finduilas?"

Finduilas grimaced. "Since we all seem to be baring our souls today recruit, by the void, why not?"

Even though there was no one within sight, Galadwen leaned in and whispered. "I didn't know women could like other women."

Finduilas began chuckling quietly. "When I asked if you were naive, I was being sarcastic, but it seems you've have not had a lot of experience in the world."

Galadwen felt her face warming. "I wouldn't say that." She paused and thought it over. "Well, I admit I've never been out of Lothlorien before this trip."

"Never kissed a man, have you?" Finduilas asked, still smiling.

"What? Well no."

"How about another girl?"

"No!"

"Didn't you talk about it with your friends?" Finduilas continued.

Galadwen shook her head. "There were only two others around my age as I grew up," she explained. "Both were a bit older and both boys."

"And neither of them sent a warm shiver through your bodice?"

Galadwen inhaled sharply. "Oh by Iluvatar's spirit, no."

"And why not?" she asked with a curious grin.

It was good to see Finduilas smiling, Galadwen thought, even if it was at her expense. "It was a good thing they both could read," Galadwen said with a sly smile. "They both needed instructions stuck to the wall of the privy in order to wipe their asses."

They both laughed together at this for several seconds.

"Well, even the dumb boys have their uses," Finduilas said with a twinkle in her eye.

Galadwen shook her head. "Apparently not for you they don't."

Finduilas turned to the golden haired girl with a look of surprise. "We may make a soldier of you yet young Galadwen. I didn't think you had such a sharp tongue."

"I'm sorry," Galadwen replied sheepishly.

Finduilas gave a short wave of the hand in response. "Nothing to be sorry about. You have to have a thick skin as a soldier, and that was a lot milder a jab than many I have taken over my years with Miriel." Turning, Finduilas walked the last few paces back to the cypress. "Anyhow, I've admired my fair share of men over the centuries as well. Miriel is just special. Kinder and caring. She understands me better than anyone I've ever met."

And like that, the smile faded and was gone. "I guess I should say, she was special."

Galadwen felt tears begin to well up, and rushing over to Finduilas, she spun her about and pulled her into a warm hug.

At this, the taller elf burst into tears, and wrapped her arms around Galadwen in return. "I miss her already," she sobbed. "I don't know what I'll do without her, Galadwen."

Galadwen hugged a little harder, but could think of nothing she could say to lessen Finduilas's pain. "Let's get to the bay," Galadwen suggested. "We could both use a wash."

Finduilas took a step back, releasing her embrace and wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. Nodding mutely, she stifled a sob and turned back towards the road, breaking into a trot. They ran alongside each other now, still not talking but somehow together. The pace more relaxed. Galadwen had time to appreciate the socks she had been issued. Her feet were hot, but the thick wool cushioned her skin from chafing, and she was sure she'd have been in a lot of discomfort without them. They ran in silence for about fifteen minutes before Finduilas seemed to notice a landmark of some sort.

"The bay is a short way in that direction," she said, pointing towards the lake. "We should walk. The ground is uneven here and we're tired."

Galadwen couldn't argue with that. Although she had regained her breath, her muscles ached and she was sure it would take some time for her to recover. Somehow she knoew she wouldn't be given that time, but she shoved this thought aside, looking forward to the cool water and feeling clean again. The trail was narrow, and the two elves had to walk single file, Galadwen behind.

"Finduilas," Galadwen asked, a thought popping into her mind. "If Miriel had died on the hill, what would you have done then?"

From behind, Galadwen saw the thin woman shake her head. "I'm not sure this is going to lift my spirits, recruit," she replied.

"I'm sorry," Galadwen apologized, "but trust me when I say I'm trying to help. If you had lost her, would you have traveled West in order to be with her again?"

Finduilas sighed, thinking the answer over. "I would have been crushed," she responded in a soft voice, "as I am now. But no, I am not ready to return to Valinor. I think I still have a role here in Middle Earth."

"So you were prepared to lose Miriel to death, but can't overcome her being out of reach because of a promotion?" Galadwen was proud of this line of logic and continued. "Look at this the same way, Finduilas. You will be with Miriel again in the west. I'm sure her oath as an officer won't bind her in the undying lands."

Finduilas stopped abruptly and Galadwen almost walked into her. "So you're saying that I should just pretend she is dead," Finduilas clarified, "and be happy that one day we will be together again in Valinor?"

Galadwen nodded. "Exactly."

"Even though I'll see her every day?"

Galadwen nodded again, although with less conviction.

"And in fact she will be sleeping in the very same room with me every night, just a few paces away?"

"Ummm...yes". Put that way, Galadwen realized how silly her idea had been. "Sorry. I was just trying to look at this from a different angle."

Finduilas started walking again, following the trail which had begun to head downwards between high bushes and occasional trees.

"Your efforts are appreciated," the soldier replied in a sardonic tone. "You were right about one thing, however. Once she leaves military service, the oath no longer applies. But Miriel is as dedicated a soldier as Lothlórien has. The only way she will leave is if she's carried off on her shield."

This gave Galadwen an idea. "Wait. What if you leave the service?" She looked intently at Finduilas, hoping for a reaction.

Finduilas stopped again, this time turning around. "Leave the troop?"

Galadwen shrugged. "I agree it's a bit radical, but have you considered it?"

Finduilas didn't reply, thinking deeply, but Galadwen could tell she had not considered it. "But we'd still be separated," Finduilas noted. "She'd go out on missions such as this one, and I'd be unable to join her."

"Is that worse than the situation you're in now?" Galadwen replied.

"I suppose not," Finduilas conceded, then shaking her head said, "but there's nothing else I've ever done. I have no other skills."

"Lady Arawel needs a handmaiden." Galadwen has no idea why that popped into her mind, but seeing Finduilas' bemused look, she stuck with it. "I'm a handmaiden trying to become a soldier, why can't you be a soldier trying to become a handmaiden?"

Finduilas shook her head in disbelief, but the idea was beginning to grow on Galadwen and she pursued it. "You'll be training me in the spear and bow, so in our off hours I can show you how to mend clothes, draw a bath and the essentials of hair care."

That drew a smile. "Preposterous," Finduilas answered, but Galadwen could see the idea spinning in her mind.

"What have you got to lose?" Galadwen asked.

Finduilas raised her eyes slowly. "I've already lost it."

"Then look what you have to gain. How long will it take for my training, Finduilas?"

Finduilas raised a thoughtful eyebrow. "Two months, ten weeks maybe, assuming you make the expected progress."

"That's more than enough time for me to teach you what you need to know." Galadwen was excited now. "Once I'm trained, you'll have completed your duty and will be free to request reassignment. We'll probably be here until the end of the summer, so you could be back with Miriel even before we have to return to Lorien."

The lean elf exhaled deeply, clearly uncertain about the idea.

Galadwen leaned in closer, looking Finduilas in the eyes. "Is she worth it?"

Finduilas nodded without hesitation. "It's a hard thing you're presenting me with, recruit," she said softly, her voice catching a bit as she spoke. "Let me think on it."

Turning, Finduilas started back down the path again, Galadwen following close behind.

"Right now I think some cool water would do both of us some good," Finduilas said over her shoulder as she rounded a sharp turn in the steeply descending trail. Then suddenly the tall soldier stopped, and raising her right hand in a fist, dropped into a squat. Unsure of what to do, Galadwen ducked as well.

"There's a couple of humans down in the lake," Finduilas whispered, her eyes looking through the branches of the bush in front of her. "Men," she added, and although Galadwen couldn't see her face, she could hear the smile.

"Well let them be," Galadwen hissed back. "We shouldn't be watching them."

Finduilas turned her head to look at her trainee. "Oh do stop it with the innocent young girl act," she chastised with a sly smile. "It's not as if they wouldn't peak in at us if they were in our position."

Turning back to look down on the beach she added, "and anyhow, one of them is that big, silver haired lad from the hill. Don't tell me you don't want to see him with his tunic off."

"No I don't," was what Galadwen was sure she would say, but instead she said nothing and found herself walking forward in a crouch to peak between the branches next to Finduilas. Earendil was about thirty paces away and below her, waist deep in the water washing lather from his body.

"He's as gorgeous as I imagined," Galadwen said, before realizing she had said it aloud. Looking quickly to her left at the other elf, she saw her beaming broadly, her eyes still fixed on the beach below.

"Don't be embarrassed, recruit. I only got a few glimpses of the lad, since he spent most of the trip on a romantic boat ride with you." Finduilas chuckled at this. "Even from what little I saw of him I had some very impure thoughts."

Galadwen punched Finduilas lightly on the shoulder. "What would Miriel say?"

Finduilas shrugged. "She had her own thoughts, and I can assure you they were far more impure than mine. The other human isn't bad either."

Looking back to the beach, Galadwen realized she hadn't noticed there were two of them. The other was a dark haired young man probably the same age as Earendil. Lean and athletic with dark hair, he was not as heavily muscled as his taller companion, but certainly handsome. But her eyes went back to Earendil. He was washing the soap from his hair now, and Galadwen's thoughts were beginning to become a bit impure as well.

"You do know how old he is," Galadwen whispered, attempting to shift the guilt she felt back to Finduilas. "He'll be sixteen in the fall."

Finduilas had the gall to lick her lips. "I am a naughty girl then," she replied, her eyes never leaving the beach.

Galadwen was a bit taken aback by that response, but more surprised by her reaction. She couldn't imagine why she was jealous, but it flowed through her with force.

"He's coming out of the water."

Galadwen refocused on the scene below her. Earendil had finished rinsing off the soap, and wading towards the beach, he rose out of the water. As he neared the rocky shore, Finduilas let out a low, quiet whistle.

"He's such a big boy." Her voice was almost a purr now. "And proportional too."

Galadwen was transfixed, not recognizing her companion's reference for a moment. When she suddenly did, it caused her to change the focus of her attention, where it remained for a few seconds. Then, realizing how unladylike this was, she let out a squeal of shame and dropped face down on the dirt path in embarrassment.

Finduilas started to chuckle, then stopped abruptly. "Shite, I think he heard you."

Galadwen shook her head in the dirt. "This couldn't get any worse," she thought, just before it did.

"That boy has some good ears," Finduilas confirmed. "He's looking right at us. Maybe we could slip back up the trail. They have a horse, but I don't think they'll ride it naked."

Galadwen had started to crawl up the trail, when Earendil's voice rang out clearly from below. "It is not very becoming of a lady to spy on men while they bathe."

Galadwen froze, then looking plaintively at Finduilas whispered, "please don't let him know I'm here."

Finduilas smiled at Galadwen, then rising from her crouch, stepped forward a pace through the bush in front of her. "I'm sorry my lord. I didn't realize this spot was already in use. I only paused here because I recognized you from the battle on the hill some days ago."

That seemed a reasonable answer to Galadwen, who once again began crawling back up the trail, hidden by the bushes.

"That is at it may be," came Earendil's voice from the beach, "and I was glad to be of service to you and your fellows, madam elf. However, I was speaking to lady Galadwen."

Galadwen froze, and turning to look at Finduilas, found her looking back, surprise on her face. Rising to her feet, her face red with shame, Galadwen moved to stand next to Finduilas. "It's...good to see you again, Earendil."

Finduilas snorted quietly in amusement at the awkwardness of this, and a much more full throated laugh came from the other boy on the beach. Galadwen had just noticed him to Earendil's left and a few paces behind, and to her shock saw he had made no effort to cover himself.

Galadwen shielded her eyes. "Please my lord, a towel."

"You didn't seem to bothered by our nudity some minutes ago when you were skulking in the bushes," he shot back, but receiving a harsh glare from Earendil, he grumbled a bit and walked over to a nearby bush to retrieve a towel.

"With your permission," Earendil continued, now that his companion was covered, "I would like to speak with you, but you must give us some privacy to dress."

Galadwen bowed slightly. "Of course. My friend an I will stand back on the track a ways and give you whatever time you need."

Grabbing Finduilas by the elbow, Galadwen began pulling her back up the trail, out of sight from the beach.

"By the light, that lad makes you want to be a mortal," Finduilas said looking back for a final peek.

Galadwen was mortified and in no mood to talk, so she continued leading the tall elf back along the trail. After some distance, she stopped and waited, pointedly ignoring the smirks and nudges from Finduilas.

"We're ready ladies." The voice had a sarcastic note to it and wasn't Earendil's, but as several minutes had passed, Galadwen led the way back down to the beach. She tried to appear calm, as if she hadn't just been ogling a naked boy five minutes before. However she appeared, she could till feel the warmth on her face, and her heart raced as she stepped out on to the rounded pebbles.

Earendil stood a few paces in front of her with bare feet, his clothes dirty, indicating a long day on the road lay behind him. The curly haired young man was also unshod and in dusty clothes. But unlike Earendil's plain, workmanlike attire, his garb was of higher quality with elegant stitching and silver embroidery around the sleeves and collar. The giant nodded as she approached, a slight smile on his lips. That was a good sign, she thought, as he had every right to be angry at her considering what had just happened.

"It is good to see you again, lady Galadwen."

That deep, soft voice she had heard on the hilltop had not left him, and looking up into his blue eyes did nothing to help her maintain her composure. "Just Galadwen, as I asked you in the boat," she gently admonished, trying to gain some control over her racing heart. "And it's good to see you again too." Realizing the implication, she added, "I must apologize again for our unseemly behavior. I was pleasantly surprised to see you here, and didn't immediately grasp that you might be bathing naked."

"We, might be bathing naked." The curly haired lad spoke up from a few paces back, and seemed about to keep talking until a raised hand from Earendil cut him off.

"I apologize that crown prince Bain and I exposed ourselves unknowingly in your presence."

Galadwen thought she saw a sly smile as he said that, as if he knew what he was saying wasn't true, but seeing the offer of a truce, Galadwen took it.

"This is trooper Finduilas, and it is we that should apologize. Truthfully we were out on a training run, and were just stopping here to wash off.

Earendil looked confused. "Training run?"

"Yes." Finduilas had moved up to stand beside Galadwen, and reaching out her hand, clasped wrists with Earendil in greeting. "Recruit Galadwen and I were getting some exercise in."

Then, looking over to Bain, she said. "You are the son of king Bard of Dale, I assume?"

Bain moved forward. "Yes. A pleasure to meet you both," he added reaching out his hand in greeting.

Finduilas had been about to bow, but seeing the hand extended, she paused before taking it in a firm grasp. "We owe your father a debt we cannot repay. I hope you will relay our sincere thanks to the King from the enlisted ranks, your highness."

Galadwen had taken a moment to catch on, but now realized she had been peeping on the crown prince of Dale while he was naked. The discovery did not make her feel any better about the situation.

Bain smiled. "I grew up the son of a low ranking military officer," he said. "Just Bain is perfectly acceptable, unless public courtesy requires a title."

"Bain it is then," Finduilas replied. "Now I hate to cut off this reunion, but the recruit and I need to bathe before heading back to barracks."

"I am still confused, Galadwen," Earendil said. "Silima told me in the boat that you were a handmaiden to lady Arawel."

Galadwen sighed. "That was true at the time, but things have changed. I have been accepted as a soldier and have begun training."

"Well," Earendil smiled as he spoke. "I suppose I should have expected this. I have never met a handmaiden in mail with an arrow in her lung. You are staying in Laketown?"

Finduilas stepped in. "The troop is barracked in the transient housing just north of the main gate." She looked sideways at Galadwen and added with a quick wink, "you should stop by this evening. I am sure Galadwen would love to see you. And sergeant Borlas would want to extend his thanks for your services as well," Finduilas added as an afterthought.

"I am sure Earendil has other plans," Galadwen interjected before Earendil could respond, looking at her companion in shock.

"He'll be available," said Bain. "I was going to drag him to some formal affair at the council hall this evening, but Tiny here hates wearing fancy clothes. How about 5pm?"

"Did he just call Earendil Tiny?" Galadwen thought. And in the moment it took her to think that, Finduilas accepted on her behalf.

"Galadwen would love to introduce him to the troop. Five it is."

Looking up at Earendil, Galadwen saw that look of embarrassment she remembered from the boat. It still looked sweet. "Well I doubt the training sergeant will allow us time together," Galadwen said, smiling up at the blushing face of the giant. "But I would like to introduce you, since it appears to have been arranged already." With this she looked pointedly at Finduilas.

Earendil smiled slightly, his face flushed. "I look forward to meeting the other soldiers."

Finduilas clapped her hands. "That settles it. Now you lads get on your way so the recruit and I can wash up."

Nodding to Galadwen, Earendil stepped back, and after recovering his boots from the rocks nearby, began heading for the path. Bain joined him after a minute, having tracked down his horse and thrown a few things into the saddle bags. As the mount walked slowly past, the prince tossed something to Finduilas.

"Try this soap," he said. "It's supposed to make your skin softer, and you'll smell great."

Snatching the bar out of the air, Finduilas held it under her nose. "Lavender?"

"Only the best for the soldiers of Lothlorien," Bain replied with a laugh, and guiding the horse onto the trail, began making his way upwards.

Smiling, the lanky elf watched them as they left, and then sitting down on the rocks, began unlacing her sandals. With those removed, her trousers came off, and her small clothes.

Galadwen's eyes widened. "What are you doing? They can still see you."

Finduilas still had her tunic on, covering her to the knees, but beyond that there was nothing. Pausing, she looked up the hill in the direction of the departing Dalemen. "Bain is on a horse, and Earendil is tall enough to see over a tree, so I suppose they will be able to see us all the way to the top of the trail."

"Aren't you going to wait?"

"Probably not." Finduilas smiled at Galadwen's offended reaction.

"You aren't embarrassed?"

Galadwen got a shrug in return. "I don't have your body recruit, but mine isn't something to be embarrassed about. And anyhow, after what we did to them, I'm thinking we owe them."

Galadwen laughed nervously, her face bright red. "You're just flirting with that prince."

"So what if I am? It's never going to go anywhere. Miriel has me and will continue to have me for as long as she wants." Finduilas sighed, a sad look crossing her face. "Even if she doesn't want me, it appears I'm hers. So if I sneak a look at an attractive human lad, what difference does it make if I give him a peek in return? Now if I was really smitten with some boy," she continued, raising an eyebrow at Galadwen, "and if I had your bountiful bosom, then it might actually lead to something."

Galadwen shook her head. "It can't lead to anything, Finduilas. Earendil and I can't have anything real. Not that I'm interested in him," she added hastily.

Finduilas laughed and patted her recruit on the shoulder. "A kiss is just a kiss, from a human boy or an elf. We both know you're not going to bear his children, but loosen up and enjoy yourself a little. If I were him I'd want to see you topless."

Galadwen looked at Finduilas from under her eyebrows. "I suspect you'd not have to be him to want that."

Finduilas smiled coyly at that but said nothing.

"At any rate, he's already seen me without my tunic."

Finduilas looked impressed. "Not as pure as you've been making out, are you?"

"It's not as lurid as that. He had to cut off my clothing to get at the arrow wound that night on the hill."

"Well what do you have to hide then?"

Galadwen thought about it, and then much to her own amazement, sat down and began pulling off her sandals. "Lets get this over with," she said, tossing her footwear to one side and working on the trousers. Her face was burning now and she was sure she would faint.

Finduilas shook her head, a twinkle in her eye. "Not fast. If you're going to seduce someone, do it slowly so he knows you're not ashamed to have him see you."

"But I am ashamed."

"No," Finduilas disagreed. "You're inexperienced and embarrassed. If doing this makes you ashamed, then don't do it."

Galadwen paused for a few seconds considering this. Then standing up, she dropped her trousers and under clothes on the rocks at her feet.

"Ready?" Finduilas asked.

"Not really."

Reaching down to the hem of her tunic, Finduilas began pulling it slowly upwards. Galadwen gritted her teeth, and ignoring her better judgement, pulled her tunic slowly off over her head.

"Don't look up at them."

Finduilas didn't have to say that, as Galadwen wasn't about to anything of the sort.

"And be careful with that wound on your side. You won't want to get that under water for a few more days yet."

Galadwen had forgotten about that. Looking down, she saw the neat stitching Earendil had used to close the wound as she slept. Seeing this, some of her embarrassment slipped away. "He's saved my life," she thought. "Maybe twice. And in repayment I peeped at him from behind a bush as he bathed."

"Lets get in the water, Finduilas. I guess I owe Earendil something, but the rest of the troop will be here soon, and I don't owe them a show."

Finduilas nodded, walking slowly across the wet cobbles and into the cool lake water.

"Bring that soap, recruit," she said, pointing to the bar sitting by her clothes. "I was thinking over what you said as we walked down here. Maybe you could give me that first lesson in hair care."


	19. Love or Lust

It had been impossible to get Bain to stop talking about what they had seen on the beach. It wasn't as if Earendil hadn't been there. By the fourteen he'd tried to do the decent thing, but it had been impossible not to look.

Finduilas was an attractive woman. Long of limb with a tight, defined, sinewy body. Her bobbed hair was uncommon, but she had high cheekbones, an attractive face and of course was completely naked, which made her hairstyle somewhat irrelevant.

Galadwen however, was a goddess. He had seen her partially undressed before, but there had been the matter of the arrow to deal with at the time, and he had not allowed her beauty to distract him. This was different.

They were on the main road now, moving south with the causeway a quarter league ahead of them. Having gotten rid of the sweat and grime from the trip south, Bain had kept Mithril to a walk, and with Earendil's long strides, he had been able to keep pace easily. This kept him cool and clean, but allowed his mind to relive what had just happened without interruption.

Truthfully, he knew very little about the golden haired elf. She was more beautiful than any woman he had ever met, but that was not knowing someone, that was admiring them. What he knew was how she smelled, and the way she breathed. He knew how she had reddened when Silima had made those comments on the boat, and how soft her hand was when she had brushed her fingers across his. What he knew about her was an impression he had. She was gentle, and innocent. She smiled sweetly, blushed easily and could be very timid.

But what had happened on the beach were not the actions of a timid girl. She had moved calmly, slowly, even stooping to pick up something unhurriedly from the rocks, before entering the water. He knew she was intelligent and she had to know he could see her, and so she had let him see her with a purpose in mind. If that were so, then she must have feelings for him. He didn't want to believe they were simply the flirtations of an immortal elven woman teasing some love struck human.

Earendil shook his head and laughed quietly at himself. "This is some truly twisted logic", he thought. Just wishful thinking. He was a love struck human, and she was an immortal elven woman, and even if his namesake had found love in the arms of an elf, that was ages ago in myths passed down through generations. He lived above a bar, not in a myth.

They had reached the turnoff where the western lake road joined the road into the city. Guiding his white stallion off the main road, Bain gave his friend a soft kick with his boot.

"On the left there," he said, pointing to a small group of low buildings a couple hundred paces off. "That's the transient housing where Finduilas said her troop was barracked." Looking a bit wistful, he added, "I wonder how many more beautiful, naked elves are waiting for us over there."

Earendil rolled his eyes. "Not a damn one," he answered, tersely. "You'd think two would be plenty for a Wednesday."

Bain sighed. "It's Wednesday, is it? I'd completely lost track of the days. And to think I'd pretended to be angry at them for spying on us. If I'd known they'd pay us back like that, I'd have let Finduilas smack my rump with my riding crop." Bain snuck a look at his friend, and seeing his words having an effect added. "Maybe even ride me up the beach bareback and..."

"That is enough," snapped Earendil loudly, causing Mithril to jump, and drawing some odd looks from others on the road.

Bain was laughing openly now, but the big lad toned it down and continued. "You've been on like that for over an hour. Fine. You saw a naked elf."

"We," Bain corrected, "saw two beautiful female elves naked. I never thought a soldier could make me feel like Finduilas did, and as for Galadwen…".

Earendil shot a warning glance at his friend, but smiling, Bain waved it off. "I was merely going to say, it is obvious why you are so taken with her. She's as beautiful a woman as I'm ever likely to see, at least in this life."

Earendil opened his mouth to argue, but gave up. "It's that obvious?"

"You are a strange one, 'Dil," Bain said, his voice softening. "All the other lads our age are trying to get into as many bodices as they can, but I don't think I've ever seen you look at an attractive girl in anything resembling a lustful way. And it's not as if they don't throw themselves at you."

"What are you talking about?" Earendil couldn't remember anyone throwing themselves at him.

"I know you don't notice it, my friend," Bain said with a roll of his eyes and a laugh, "but the ladies try and get your attention every chance they get. Elsa's eyes follow you everywhere you go."

Earendil shook his head vigorously. "Nonsense. Elsa's around me all the time at the inn. She'd have let me know if she were interested. I'd say she's after you."

Bain shrugged slightly. "Well she is after me," he admitted. "Elsa is looking hard for a husband and is casting a wide net, even if she does have to rob the cradle. But think back to the night before you left with the guard to Laketown. You went upstairs to bathe and she offered to bring you some potatoes and ale. Remember?"

"That was nice of her. I was a bit hungry. But obviously I was going to be bathing, so…"

Bain threw his hands up as if his point had been made. "Do you think she didn't know that?"

Earendil mulled this over, assuming there had to be another answer while Bain kept on.

"If I weren't around you so much and could vouch for the fact that you'd never looked at a stable boy in a lustful way either," the prince continued, "I'd have to assume the rumors were true."

"What rumors?"

"About you preferring the company of boys in your bed, obviously."

It wasn't obvious at all to Earendil. "Who would want to spread a rumor like that?" This conversation was spiraling out of control and the young barkeep couldn't believe he had been as blind as his friend was insisting.

"My bet is on Lady Sigga."

"The merchant Oddmarr's wife?"

Dale was only newly reformed, and even though it had a king, it lacked a court as such. Still, a few of the more influential people who had made the move north would spend a lot of time visiting the grand hall, or organizing informal banquets to which they always invited the king, and often his son. Oddmarr was foremost amongst these, and as Bain's closest friend, Earendil had attended many of those gatherings.

"That's the one," Bain confirmed.

Traveling towards the main gate, the iron shod hooves of Mithril began to beat loudly on the wooden planking as they passed onto the first of the five spans that crossed the lake into Esgaroth. Their already leisurely pace slowed even further as they followed the crowd into the city, waiting for their turn to come and be scrutinized by the town guard.

"Everyone in Dale," Bain explained, "well, except for her husband, knows she's bedded every man that strikes her fancy."

Once again, Earendil knew nothing of the sort, but allowed his friend to continue the tale.

"She's very proud of that record, and of course she's been after you since your fifteenth birthday. She crashed the party I threw for you in the grand hall, if you recall."

"I think I do remember," Earendil replied, casting his mind back. "She spoke to my mother and ordered six dozen loaves of her sourdough, asked that they be bought to her home right away."

Bain nodded. "That got your mother out of the way."

"Yes. It was already late in the afternoon, and when I found out I left to go help at the inn. Pity about that. Sigga had just told me about the present she…." Earendil stopped. "Oh."

"The present that was upstairs and needed to be unwrapped," Bain replied through quiet laughter. "Yes, you remember exactly." Reaching across from his horse, Bain slapped his friend firmly on the back. "It's good to see you're beginning to open your eyes."

"And when she had a problem with the lacing on her corset?"

"You were very kind to send for my father's handmaiden," Bain said with a knowing grin.

"The night she needed to be walked home because her horse had bolted?"

"And you found carriage man to escort her safely back to her husband."

Earendil shook his head in disbelief. There were half a dozen other times he had spoken with Lady Sigga, and now he could see all of them for what they had actually been.

"And so she says I must be buggering other boys."

"That about sums it up, my friend. But 'Dil," Bain added with a concerned tone, "you have to see it from poor Sigga's point of view."

Earendil looked across at his friend with an incredulous expression. "Poor Sigga? She's been trying to slide her hand down my trousers for a year and is old enough to be my mother."

He regretted saying that as soon as it passed his lips. His mother's age was a touchy subject, but fortunately Bain was focused on other matters.

"She is a proud woman," Bain explained with a poorly constructed look of sincerity. "She has a reputation to uphold and you were doing her no favors in that regard."

"To the void with her bloody reputation," Earendil grumbled. "And anyway, what does all this have to do with my feelings about Galadwen being obvious?"

"Come on 'Dil," the prince said in an exasperated tone. "I suppose all us young colts settle down eventually, but at my age I'm honest enough to say I look at a fine pair of tits like my hound looks at his dinner."

Earendil snorted derisively at the choice of words, but Bain offered little in the way of apology.

"Have you ever mistaken me for a poet? Anyway, it's true. But you're different. Until today on the beach, I'd never seen you unable to take your eyes off of a woman."

"So you think I consider Galadwen dinner?"

Bain shook his head. "I told you, I'm not a poet so I can't properly describe what you looked like." Bain paused, searching for the words. "If you had caught any other girl peeping at you while you bathed, you would have given them a lecture in that tone you use when you really want someone to understand."

Earendil smiled at this, imagining himself leaning forward, his low voice instructing Galadwen on how wrong it was to spy on him.

"But you didn't do any of that. 'It's good to see you my lady'", Bain mimicked in a poor imitation of Earendil's baritone. "Oh do call me Galadwen," he continued, switching to a quavering falsetto. "And do gaze upon my bosoms and be amazed."

Earendil wanted to be angry, but the absurdity of Bain's impersonations brought a smile to his face.

"And I'm not the only one who noticed," his friend added. "Did you see how quickly Finduilas got involved?"

Actually, Earendil had noticed that.

"Galadwen is as taken with you as you are with her, at least if I read Finduilas's body language correctly." Pausing to lick his lips, the prince concluded, "and you know I was paying a lot of attention to that body."

Earendil was sure that much was true at least.

By now the main gate of Esgaroth was looming over them, tall crenelated walls of oaken logs stretching to either side of thick, plank gates. They were opened outwards, the town guards briefly stopping each group entering to give them the once over. The two lads passed through with only a cursory glance, probably because Bain was recognized, but also because security at the gate was entirely for show. Earendil assumed if you didn't show up waving a bloody scimitar and carrying a sackful of severed heads, the guards wouldn't look twice.

Once through the gate, the road widened and the pace quickened. Bain nudged his horse to a trot, and moving a few hundred paces along the broad road, he turned left through a wide pair of double doors and into a barn.

Earendil waited at the entrance as the prince stabled Mithril. This done, Bain threw the saddle bags over his shoulder and joined his friend in the bustle of the street. The bells had just chimed twice for the half, and while Earendil hadn't heard the hour bell, he knew it was 11:30. Their bath, rather exciting encounter with Galadwen and Finduilas, as well as their leisurely pace afterwards, had put them an hour or so behind schedule. Still, there was plenty of time until he was supposed to meet Galadwen again at her barracks.

Thinking of that brought his mind back to the beach, but Bain interrupted his flashback with the announcement of his plans.

"So here's what I am thinking," he began. "My guards will head for a tavern not far from here once they locate the beautiful Estrid. With luck they are already waiting." Bain pressed a small leather pouch into his friend's hand and Earendil heard the coins inside clinking. "Now don't try and give them back." Bain knew his friend well and moved to head off the probable refusal. "We both know they're my father's and that he can afford a few silvers. Anyhow, I don't want you around when I'm trying to unlace my true love"

"After the last hour I thought Finduilas was your true love," Earendil said cynically.

"Bah! She is a dream. A firm, muscular, erotic dream." Bain paused and closed his eyes, leaving his friend to feel particularly uncomfortable for a moment. Returning from his fantasy, Bain continued, "but we all know elves and men just don't run off to bed together." Noticing the glare he received from Earendil, he finished with, "But I'm sure you and Galadwen have a chance."

"You're quite the motivator," Earendil said flatly.

Bain shrugged and looked off into the street. "Nothing about you is normal, Tiny. If you'd just run off and knock up a farm girl like a normal boy, you'd make things so much easier for me. But you seem to thrive on being gallant and serving others, so who knows, maybe you'll knock up an elf instead."

Exasperated, the big lad snatched the purse from his friend and tied it to one of his medicine belts.n "Neither of us better knock anyone up," Earendil warned. "I'm going to get something to eat, and then I may head to a bathhouse to get my clothes cleaned. I didn't bring another set, and since you and Finduilas have found me a companion for the evening, I'll need to get these rags washed. You know Esgaroth bathhouses better then I do. Have a recommendation?"

Bain considered for a moment. "There is Tonya's just a few blocks over," he mused, "But that's better known for it's hands on approach to male cleanliness." Smirking at his friends shocked look, Bain went on. "If I were you I'd head across the city to the merchant quarter and look for the Golden Tub. With your delicate sensibilities, get a private bath and hire a washerwoman to clean the road off of your clothes while you soak. It's a bit of a walk, but worth it."

Earendil wasn't sure. "Sounds expensive."

"You've got plenty to cover it, and enough to consider a few of their perks as well."

Earendil began to suspect that his new purse held more than a few silvers, but as it was too late to give it back, he moved on. "Meet here at 4:30?"

Bain nodded. "Sounds good. I'll try and get cleaned up after my conquest and we can head to the barracks we saw on the way in."

This settled, the friends parted ways. Earendil headed east along the main avenue, crossing the occasional side canal on low, arching bridges. The wide thoroughfare passed just to the north of the central plaza, so after stopping for some spiced corn and beer, he turned to the right, passing through the main square and into the wealthiest part of Laketown.

This neighborhood was where the most powerful families in Esgaroth lived. Unlike other areas of the city full of buildings with densely packed apartments, each family here maintained a large multi-story home, the most expensive of which faced out over the lake. Due to the limited space, there were no courtyards or gardens, the homes frequently sharing walls. Without gardens, families had begun to paint the fronts of their grand homes in order to outdo their neighbors, but this has immediately drawn the ire of the wood elves, who at the time were still heavily involved in helping with the rebuilding of the city. They found the defacing of the wood with paint tacky and garish, and not wanting to offend the talented craftsmen who were building their small palaces, the wealthy took instead to carving intricate, beautiful designs onto the facades. Many homes displayed curling, delicate swirls, varnished so that the light and dark grains in the wood contrasted magnificently. Others had scenes that spoke of the family's background or to historical events. One particularly dramatic home had a great wooden dragon over its lintel, one wing dropping low, with an arrow protruding from its breast.

Earendil had a good idea where the Golden Tub was located and so found it without much trouble. Walking through a pair of broad doors, he entered a pleasantly lit entrance hall. A smallish, portly woman stood across from the entryway behind a wide counter wearing a lacy white dress with puffy sleeves down to her wrist. Raising her eyes, she looked Earendil up and down with an expression that indicated she didn't think much of what she saw.

"Is there something I can do for you?"

Earendil noticed that she hadn't even bothered with "young master", and at that point he decided to do something most unlike him. "I don't much like your tone," he said in as condescending a voice as he could manage while reaching into the purse Bain had given him, "but as I can't be bothered finding a more upscale establishment, let's see if you can learn some manners." Tossing a coin onto the counter, he looked about the room in a disinterested sort of way.

Esgaroth was an peculiar city when it came to currency. They minted none of their own, relying mostly upon Gondorian coinage for day to day purchases. Being a trading city, other currencies also found their way frequently into circulation, leading to some interesting, and often heated discussions as to exchange rates. However, when someone said they were giving you a few silvers, they were talking about the tharni, a small silver coin from Gondor. The castar was the largest denomination usually carried. Worth four tharni, it bore a tree on one side with seven stars stamped on the reverse. There was a gold castar, worth twenty five of the silver, but it was rarely seen and even less frequently carried as purchases rarely required such sums, and no-one carried the coinage to make change for it. But most people just carried coppers, simple coins of which twenty made a tharni. An average worker in Esgaroth would make 40 or 50 coppers in a day, and with a month of work could afford a decent horse, if he didn't have any other expenses.

When Earendil had stopped for his spiced corn, he had looked into his purse to see what Bain had given him. The prince hadn't lied, exactly. There were five silvers and ten coppers inside. But there were also three gold hammers, a dwarven coin found in abundance in Erebor. Of the hundreds of thousands of coins hoarded by Smaug, there were coins minted in many places and for many reasons. The gold and silver hammer were by far the most common, and were the only coins Dain Ironfoot allowed to be used in commerce. The same diameter as the castar, it was twice its thickness with a dwarven smith's hammer on one side and the likeness of Durin the First on the reverse.

Earendil was not disappointed by the effect the coin had on the mistress of the baths. The shocked look that crossed her face was well worth the gold hammer it had cost him. He had to admit that he did look a bit ragged, but that did not excuse such rude treatment. Now she was looking down at nearly four months earnings and desperately trying to think of a way to get back in his good graces.

"I require a private bath," Earendil said casually.

Turning regretfully away from the coin, the mistress replied, "Of course my lord. I would be honored to help you with that, however at a silver an hour for that service, I am not sure I have the ability to make change for a gold hammer."

She seemed almost to be crying at the end, which pleased Earendil in a dark sort of way. "I don't like excuses, madam," he replied haughtily, "but as I am a gentleman and you are having trouble managing your job, I will assist you. Is there anyone in the men's common bath?"

"No my lord."

"Then I will take that, and I mean all of it. Judging by the surroundings, I doubt your private tubs would be of sufficient size for me to be comfortable in at any rate." Without waiting for a reply, Earendil crossed the polished wooden floors heading towards a hallway labeled 'men'. "I expect no interruptions during the next three hours, am I clear?"

The mistress was following behind still a bit overcome by all of this. He noticed the coin had vanished from the counter, however. "Absolutely sir. That will be eight spots for three hours, of course we will have to charge for…"

"I'm not interested in the math," Earendil interrupted arriving at a changing room and looking over his shoulder expectantly at the woman behind him.

Moving past him with a nervous bow, she opened the door to the small room beyond.

"What I am interested in is that there be a robe, soap and fresh linen towels here waiting for me by the time I remove my clothes. As for the change, if you are able to find a way to procure that, I might be tempted to give it as a gratuity."

The plump lady's eyes grew round at that. "Absolutely my lord. By your leave." And with an even deeper bow, she hustled away.

"That went well", Earendil thought as he removed his clothes, hanging them on pegs along the wall, but he was a bit annoyed that the mistress would end up with such a large sum at the end of it. He should have thought that part over a bit more. Still, there was still time to remedy that. Hearing the robe and towels being deposited on a shelf outside his changing room, he reached through the door and grabbed the soft, white bathrobe, wrapping it around himself.

In the hall the mistress was waiting, pointing him to the last door on the left. "You'll not be bothered my lord," she promised as he made his way inside.

"I'll need a washerwoman for my clothes, and have her stop by so I can discuss my preferences." With that he closed the door.

It was a large bath set into the floor with seating around the edge. Designed for eight, there was more than enough room to stretch out and let the cool water envelop him. He had heard of bathhouses that heated their water, but in a wooden city, a fire of that size was deemed unsafe and anyway, the coolness was relieving to his tired legs. Presently there came a knock on the door, and a young woman entered. She was perhaps twenty five, her brown hair covered by a cloth veil that surrounded her thin face and was tied under the chin. Her hair was long, emerging from the veil and running down her back in a braid. It was a practical arrangement for a working woman, and her mother wore something like it whenever she was in public, albiet for different reasons.

"My lord wishes his clothes prepared?" Her voice was quiet, weak, and she kept her distance, still holding the partially opened door with one hand.

Earendil smiled and nodded, pulling himself closer to the wall of the pool for modesty. "Thank you my lady, yes. I have traveled from Dale over night, and my garments show it."

The young woman looked a little confused, although he couldn't understand why.

"I have a young lady I am to meet in the evening, and I can't see her looking, or smelling, like I spent a day on the road."

The young woman smiled slightly. She was attractive, if you liked thin women. As Earendil looked at her, he thought perhaps she was a bit too thin.

"If I might be so bold, my lord, is this a lady you have an affectionate interest in?"

This brought a broad smile to the boy's lips. "You are the second person today to assume I am smitten with this girl. You are either very perceptive, my lady, or I am quite stricken."

She returned the smile. "In my experience most men lust, my lord, rather than love. When a lady sees real love in a man's eyes, she can tell the difference." At this her eyes dropped a bit as if she were taking the silver haired boy in. "She is a lucky woman. Were I a bit younger I would certainly desire to be the center of your attentions."

His recent conversation with Bain still fresh in his mind, Earendil thought this woman might be flirting with him. Still, her smile was warm, not salacious, and though she was quiet, she seemed charming.

"Might I suggest that you have your clothes scented, my lord? I have several choices and I am sure it would increase her interest."

Earendil didn't think that could hurt. "Tell me what you have."

"Lilac, my lord." she said rolling her eyes upwards and biting her lower lip as she thought, "lavender, rose water, and cypress."

"Cypress? The tree?"

"Yes my lord. It is actually very pleasant, and if I may say so, less feminine than the others."

"Well we wouldn't want her mistaking me for anything other than a man," Earendil joked. "And she grew up in the woods, so perhaps I will trust you with the cypress. May I ask your name?"

"Mildred, my lord."

"I am charmed to meet you Mildred. I am Earendil. I suppose you must call me 'my lord' when the mistress is present, but any other time, it simply makes me uncomfortable."

"Of course Earendil." Her smile beamed now. "The Golden Tub is all about comfort. Might I say one thing before I leave to attend to your clothing?"

Earendil nodded. "Of course."

"I overheard you in the reception hall, and with respect, you seemed quite the ass."

Earendil laughed at this as she continued.

"But now you're so kind and polite. Actually, it's very attractive."

"Well that was clearly flirtation," he thought. It warmed him a bit to feel a woman found him attractive, and he regretted having not been more attentive before. "Your mistress looked at me like I was a sway backed mule," he explained. "I thought I might repay her for that."

Mildred chuckled softly. " I am not defending her Earendil, but you did look a bit rough when you first arrived." This time she really did look him up and down. "You clean up well though," she said coyly with a flick of an eyebrow. "I'll go attend to your clothes before I become too forward. By your leave, my lord." With a curtsy and a smile, she backed out of the room.

Turning his back to the wall of the bath, he slid down into the water again. "That was fun," he thought with a smile. "No harm in a little flirting."

He soaked for half an hour and then lathered up. After the bath he had taken just a few hours before, this wasn't really needed, but he had time to kill. The soap he had been given was very fine, but perhaps the bar Bain had given him at the lake was smoother on the skin. He didn't miss the lavender though. Soon after he dozed off, a short night of rest and a long night of running having taken it's toll. He was awoken by another knock on the door.

"Your clothes, my lord."

Earendil invited Mildred in, a bit taken aback by how fast she had completed the task. She placed his neatly folded clothes on a bench next to the door. "They look wonderful," he commented.

"I hope you like the scent," she replied. "It's my favorite, at least on a man."

Earendil looked at her again. She wasn't just thin, he now noticed, but almost underfed. He began thinking. "Mildred, I would like to ask you some questions, if you will permit me."

Looking a bit concerned, Mildred nodded.

"Close the door please."

At this a look of fear shot through her face. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression my lord," she said with a curtsy. "I don't wish to leave you thinking that…"

Earendil shook his head forcefully. "No Mildred, it's nothing like that, I just don't want your mistress overhearing."

Turning, she slowly shut the door, putting her back against it as it closed and maintaining as much distance as she could from the large, naked man in the water.

"On my word, I will not set foot out of this bath, my lady," Earendil promised seeing the fear on her face. He was relieved to see it abate somewhat. "You have many men make advances on you?"

"The private rooms are worse," she replied softly, her face downcast.

"You could refuse?"

"I can't. I would lose my job, and I have three children to feed."

"Your husband?"

"Left me when the third child was born," she replied. She was beginning to tear up and Earendil felt his heart ache.

"I am sorry you have to do this," he said softly.

"So am I," she whispered back.

"How much do you make, if I can ask?"

Mildred shrugged. "My pay is ten coppers a day, but there are gratuities. After I split them with the house and pay for the cleaning supplies, I make 15 or 20 coppers a day perhaps." Looking up she said, "I do make a little more for extras like scents and polishing boots. I forgot to ask you my lord if you wanted your boots polished, but I did it anyway."

"I am more than happy to cover that cost," he said, bringing a small smile to the distraught woman's face.

"This explains why you look underfed," Earendil said softly. "You split gratuities?"

She nodded silently.

"But anything you earn in here the mistress will not know of."

"No my lord, but seeing your love for your lady, it would break my heart to earn that sort of gratuity."

"I gave you my oath on that, Mildred," Earendil chastised. "You will have to do nothing other than what you have already done. My purse is there on the bench a few hands from my clothes. Open it."

Seeing the small pouch, Mildred reached uncertainly for it. Looking at Earendil again for approval, she opened the strings and looking inside, sucked in a shocked breath.

"Take one of the gold coins," he directed, but Mildred shook her head.

"I cannot my lord, I mean Earendil. It's too much."

"Money has one use, Mildred, and that is to make one happy. It doesn't make me happy sitting in my purse, but I'd be happy if it helped you."

Tears were streaming down her thin face now. "It's six, maybe seven months pay," she said between the sobs.

Earendil scratched his chin. "Seven months? My math was terrible then. Take them both."

With a soft cry the woman collapsed in sobs on the ground. Earendil started to rise and go help, but realizing his situation, he slid back into the water.

"Mildred, I can't come help you, so you'll have to get control of yourself."

This drew a sobbing laugh from the washerwoman who began to regain her composure, climbing off the floor with the support of the bench. "This lady of yours," she asked. "You intend to marry her?"

That was an awkward question. "It's complicated, Mildred."

The thin woman looked at Earendil expectantly. The answer he gave wasn't going to be enough.

Sighing, he said, "if I had my choice, I suppose I would ask her. Although truthfully, we've been together three times in our lives."

"She must be very beautiful," Mildred said with a wistful smile as she wiped the tears from her face with her veil.

"She is," Earendil confirmed. "It's a bit more than just that, however."

This brought another soft sob. "How beautiful," she whispered. "Well," she continued, wiping the last tears away and drawing herself up, "if she doesn't marry you , I will."

They both laughed at this.

"I will keep that in mind if things don't work out."

"Just my luck they'll work out splendidly," Mildred said with a sly grin, hiding the two gold coins under her veil as she did. "I have enough money now to find work somewhere else. I will light candles and ask for Eru's blessings upon you for the rest of my life, my lord."

"Kor ziran. Yozi nir nu-yad ya urin bela batan-ze hu," Earendil said solemnly, then seeing Mildred's confused look he translated. "In the language of ancient Numenor that meant, 'Beloved Lord. Give him your love and shine light on his path'".

Mildred raised her eyebrows, giving the young man another appraising look. "You are just full of surprises, aren't you? You're from Dale? You seem more like a young heir to a noble house in Gondor."

"No my lady. My mother owns an inn. It's a good one," he added, "but I have no noble blood in me." Seeing more questions coming, he tried to change the subject. "Do you happen to know the time?"

"The bells chimed three thirty as I came to deliver your clothes. The mistress told me your time was up, but that she wasn't going to disturb you even if you stayed in here all night."

Earendil was shocked at the time. "I will need to leave Mildred. If you could give me some privacy?"

"Of course my lord."

"Oh. Did you see if your mistress had managed to find change for the payment I gave her earlier?

Mildred nodded. "She must have. There were several stacks of silver castars on the counter." Her eyes narrowed and she gave Earendil a sly look. "You own an inn you say? You must be packing the place to have a handful of gold hammers to toss around."

"I'm the barkeep, actually. My mother owns the place, and it's a long story." With this another thought popped into his head. "You say you'll be looking for another job? If you can make it to Dale, I will put in a word for you with my mother. We could always use some help, and the only men who'll be pawing you are the ones whose paws you want. I'll see to that."

Mildred's face softened. "You are a blessing, Earendil of Dale. I very well may take you up on that." With a final smile, she opened the door and backed out. "Glad to have been of service, my lord," she said, securing the door behind her.

"I guess the mistress can take from that what she will," he thought with a grin, before jumping from the bath and grabbing a towel. Once dry, he went to his clothes. They were clean, dry, and pressed. Even his roughly worn boots were shined, with most of the scuffs buffed out. Inhaling deeply, he took in the scent. Mildred had been right. The woodsy smell seemed much more appropriate for men, and with a broad smile he began dressing quickly.

The hour bell was tolling four as he left the bath. Stopping in the reception hall he donned his smug, pretentious look once more. The mistress was standing next to the counter, a nervous glint in her eyes. Behind her standing near the wall was Mildred, her face down looking at the floor.

"It seems the challenge of making change was not beyond you," Earendil said in an oily tone, casting only a passing glance at the four stacks of silver coins sitting on the counter. Reaching for his purse, he emptied the coins still remaining into his hand, transferring them to a pouch on one of his belts. Taking each or the four stacks, he dropped them one by one into the purse, and drawing the strings tight, tied it closed.

Looking at the mistress, Earendil gave a sweet smile. "The gratuity I promised," he said to the beaming woman, then tossing the purse casually to Mildred, he turned to leave. "I like that girl. She had best be here when I return, and in good spirits." Waving his hand casually as he stepped out the door, he strolled into the street beyond.

As soon as he was out of sight he picked up the pace. The quarter bell hadn't yet rung, but he knew he had less than twenty minutes to cross the city, a trip that normally took about half an hour. The streets were not yet crowded, families would begin coming out for dinner as the sun dropped in a few hours, so he made good time. As the quarter bell rang twice indicating the bottom of the hour, he was within sight of the stables. Bain was already there, leaning up against the stable wall watching the passing crowds. His guards were there too, all standing within a few paces of the prince. Unlike the open road between Dale and Esgaroth, the crowds and noise of the city had them on edge.

Reaching out, Earendil slapped a hand down on Bain's shoulder. "How went the romance, my passionate friend?"

Bain smiled, and silently beckoned his friend to follow him into the stables. With the guards waiting outside, he moved a few paces from the door and pulled Earendil in close. "It was incredible, 'Dil," he said in a joyous whisper. "She had slipped a note to one of the guards, and let me in through a downstairs window." Bain's face was almost aglow as he told the story in an excited whisper. "She was on me before my feet hit the floor. Her father was away and she had sent her maid out to buy beauty supplies, or some such. She had me undressed and straddled before I could say 'how do you do'".

"Straddled?"

"Absolutely. Rode me like she had a race to win. By the light 'Dil, she was incred..."

Bain didn't finish his sentence. He was interrupted by Earendil grabbing his tunic and slamming him backwards against the wall of the stable.

"By the void, Bain. What were you thinking?" Earendil was hissing in a harsh whisper to keep others from hearing. "You're the crown prince of Dale. You can't just go stuffing some girl simply because she asks for it."

Bain had clearly not expected this response. "I don't understand," he croaked, still trying to recover his breath from being slammed into a wall. "It's not as if I forced myself on her."

"That's not the issue you buffoon. What if you've put a baby in her belly? You're a target for every girl within 100 leagues of here, don't you see?" Earendil was shaking his friend with every word. "One good roll in the hay and it's goodbye to their ordinary life and hello to the next queen of Dale." He slammed his friend against the wall a second time to accentuate the point.

Bain seemed a bit worried. "Estrid wouldn't do that. Would she?"

Earendil shook his head in frustration "And you were saying I'm the naive one? You do know how a child is made, yes?"

Bain scoffed at this. "Do course I do."

Earendil dropped his voice to a whisper. "So when that final moment arrived, you at least made sure you were no longer straddled, right?" The pause that followed was all Earendil had to hear, and throwing his arms in the air, he turned his back on the stunned prince and walked a few paces off, hands on his head in frustration.

"Well she was on top," Bain explained weakly. "She kind of took charge of the whole thing."

Earendil said nothing, simply sighing in exasperation.

"The second time was about the same," Bain added.

"May Dale be saved from an idiot as king," Earendil prayed, eyes skyward. "Damn it, she played you like a lute."

"More like a woodwind," Bain replied, incorrectly thinking humor would improve the situation.

Earendil turned his huge form slowly to face his friend. "If you say one more stupid thing, prince or not, I will shove you through that wall." Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a few deep breaths. "Damn it Bain, I knew you went after the girls, but I always thought you were smarter than this."

Hearing this, Bain seemed to deflate. "You're right. I didn't think this through and I'm truly sorry. You really think Estrid set this up?"

Earendil didn't know what to think of Estrid, having never really met her. What he did know that the aspersion he had just thrown at her was inappropriate. "I don't know Bain. I'm sure she's a decent girl, and I shouldn't have said otherwise. Still, you need to consider who you are before you get involved like this."

Bain inhaled deeply. "You're right, of course," he admitted. "I'm sure nothing will become of it though, and who knows, maybe my father will think she's marrying material." He paused for a moment in thought. "In five or ten years,"

Earendil cracked a small smile. "Let's hope you're right. Get your horse. We've got to get moving if we're going to get to the barracks in the next fifteen minutes.

The stable master already had Mithril saddled, so after giving him a few silvers, Bain and his guard were mounted and headed towards the gate. The sun was still above the distant mountains, a burning yellow ball slowly turning to orange as it sank. It would be dark in a couple of hours, and Earendil was beginning to feel nervous pangs as he looked forward to the first opportunity to really get to know the woman he had already stated he wanted to marry.


	20. A New Mission

Galadwen didn't understand why everything had it's own way of being folded, or why it must put in such a precise spot in her trunk. The trousers, folded in half lengthwise and then in thirds from the bottom, were on the right with the waist facing up. Tunics, also folded just so, went above the trousers with belts, socks, and the yet to be purchased small clothes on the left. With everything put away under the watchful eye of Finduilas, the recruit made the mistake of asking.

"Because you were told to," the RO replied in a stony voice before pulling the neatly folded uniforms from the trunk and tossing them in a pile on the bed. "Now do it again like I showed you."

Galadwen did, and then did it again before Finduilas turned to other matters. Some of Galadwen's armor had been delivered while she'd been out running and adjustments would have to be made. So carrying the equipment outside, she and her RO began working at one of the heavy wooden tables. They were alone in the yard, with the troop taking their turn bathing and the officers sequestered in the second building, discussing what was surely weighty matters. Removing some neatly stowed tools from crates under the table, Finduilas took the helm and looked it over.

It was tapered to a point at the top, and seemed to be slightly tilted backwards, a ridge running from between the eyes back to the peak. Cheek guards dropped down from each side, curling in front of the mouth with a small gap between them. They were held in place by numerous heavy rivets, which also held the brow ridge, together forming clear lines of sight for the wearer while still providing considerable protection for the face. Galadwen could see the inspiration for their design, the openings tapered at the outer edges mimicking the pointed corners of elven eyes. Pulling the coif over Galadwen's head, Finduilas put the helm in place, wiggling it slightly to ensure it was snug.

"This fits reasonably well," she said, stepping back for perspective. "We will probably need to trim off a small bit of the felt so it sits lower, but that is an easy task."

The greaves were next. The top portion, strapped around the lower thigh with more straps upwards to the belt, fit fairly well. The lower portion, connected by a domed knee guard, was too long. Finduilas removed it and deftly made some marks with charcoal. This issue was repeated with the bracers, and more charcoal lines were made indicating where adjustments were needed. The leather palmed, mail gloves fit well and were put to one side. Handing some fine snips to Galadwen, Finduilas explained how low the helmet had to sit. With this instruction, the liner of the helmet was removed and Galadwen began delicately trimming away some of the horsehair cloth.

Finduilas set to work trimming off excess metal from the greaves with heavy snips, then after filing the sharp ends, she folded over the bottom edge, hammering it flat on a large metal anvil. As this progressed, the soldier lectured her recruit on some basic of military matters: How mail was good against the swinging attacks of goblin blades, but less effective against piercing attacks like spears. How Galadwen should drop her chin and look out from under the brow ridge, thus guiding arrows and blows from above that glanced off her helmet, downwards to catch on the ridge rather than striking her face. Also, how you should stand with her shoulder to the enemy so as to create a smaller target and to help stabbing attacks glance off.

This last advice made Galadwen smile wryly. "I wish I had known that back on the hill," she muttered.

Finduilas laughed. "That wound does come in from the front, so I'd say you're right." The RO shrugged, returning to her hammering. "Live and learn."

"Barely," Galadwen thought, as Finduilas stuck the last few blows.

"Let's see how this fits."

They fit very well, it turned out, with the bracers now coming to just above the wrist and the greaves stopping a finger over her foot. Pleased with the result, Finduilas wiped sweat from her brow. "That will do well enough," she said, walking several paces across the yard and fetching water from a barrel with a metal cup. "I'm not going to make them perfect," she continued over her shoulder between gulps. "You won't look the same in two months anyhow."

Galadwen thought that was another shot at her weight, but before she could respond there came the sound of horses approaching from behind. Turning she saw a shiny coated palomino, tossing it's head and prancing joyfully from side to side, moving towards her. It's slender rider was sitting placidly as the horse jumped about. It was as if the animal was playing, trying to disrupt the balance of the elf on his back, but Bellamdir seemed unphased, easily shifting his weight to match the horse. Behind the lively stallion, a plodding dun followed placidly. It's head was down somewhat, watching the world through long lashes. The mare carried commander Leindir, who Galadwen realized for the first time, seemed very uncertain on horseback. She thought it odd she hadn't noticed that before.

"Salute when I do." Finduilas had moved quickly to stand next to her recruit, and was now at attention as the two riders approached.

"Commander." Finduilas snapped her had across her chest as Leindir drew his horse up a few paces away, Galadwen mimicking the motion a split second later.

Leindir returned the salute before dismounting."At rest please," he said, handing his reigns to Galadwen. "See that my mount is secured recruit."

Stepping forward and accepting the reigns, Galadwen turned to see if Bellamdir needed his horse hitched. Kicking his far foot across, the scout had slid down his mount's side, landing lightly on both feet. Taking the reigns and wrapping them about the pommel, he scratched the palomino behind the ear, and with a soft whistle, patted it on the shoulder. Tossing his head, the horse cantered off, heading for the lake.

Leindir watched the horse as it trotted away. "You're not going to secure your animal?"

Bellamdir shook his head. "I'd rather not, sir. I'd rather Elen not be restrained, and anyway," he added in a voice like a doting parent, "he knows to stay close and come when I whistle. Will you be needing me sir?"

Leindir shook his head. "I don't believe I will." Pausing for a moment, the commander smiled. "But stay close and come if I whistle."

Bellamdir broke into a beaming smile. "Of course sir," he said through a laugh. With that he saluted and headed off in the same direction as Elen.

"Did he name that horse," Finduilas asked quietly, receiving an uncertain shrug in return from Galadwen who was leading the commander's mare to a nearby post.

"It seems quiet here spear Finduilas."

"Yes commander," she replied. "But first sergeant Borlas and the other officers are meeting in the second building from the left."

Nodding his thanks, Leindir began walking across the rocks towards the indicated building. "Recruit Galadwen," he called back over his shoulder. "Don't do anything strenuous, and if I haven't sought you out beforehand, you will report to me at a quarter 'til six." Without waiting for an answer, he crossed the remaining distance and went inside.

Finduilas turned to Galadwen with a quizzical look, but once again all she could do was shrug, securing the horse to an iron ring set in the hitching post.

"What time is it, anyway?" Galadwen asked.

Finduilas looked into the sky westwards. "After four, judging by the sun. I was going to take you running again, but as the commander has given orders against that and the troop should be back soon, we will wait here and rest a bit."

"What about Bain and Earendil?"

Finduilas winced. "Shite. I'd forgotten about those two. They'll be here soon," she said, looking towards the bridge to Esgaroth as she did. "I had best go tell the commander Earendil and the crown prince are expected." Following Leindir and knocking on the door to the barracks, Finduilas waited for several seconds before the door opened and she disappeared inside, leaving Galadwen sitting alone on the work bench.

Within a minute she was back. "Leindir wants to formally thank Earendil for the aid he provided after the battle," she explained. "Let's get your gear back into the barracks. Is that the quarter bell?"

Galadwen thought she heard it, two high pitched peals wafting quietly across the water from the city.

"It tells everyone in the city what time it is," Finduilas explained, seeing the young elf's blank look. "I'll explain later, but for now it's enough that you know the pack is due back any moment now, and if that giant is on time, we have thirty minutes."

Returning her armor to the trunk, Galadwen took a moment to pull out her comb and run it through her hair. Finduilas rolled her eyes dramatically, but didn't stop her.

"You will be outside in five minutes for formation," she warned, getting a thank you smile back from her recruit.

Galadwen had felt her heart begin to beat faster when she learned the time. She didn't want to think she was quite as taken with the massive boy as it seemed, but it was getting hard for her to deny it. After she had been caught at the beach, she would have expected Earendil to be furious. It was, she had to admit, a terrible breach of trust to creep up on someone bathing like that. But instead of anger, Earendil has only mildly chastised her. "He even asked for permission to dress," she thought to herself with a smile. Certainly that must show he had some feelings for her.

This caused her to shake her head slowly. "I'm reading a lot," she thought to herself, "into what was very likely a gentle boy showing nothing more than good manners." She knew what she had been told about humans, their cavalier attitudes towards love, taking and changing mates like they would change their clothes. She really wanted to believe that she wasn't foolish enough to throw her heart away on a a human boy just looking for a bed partner. She wanted Earendil to have deep, heartfelt feelings for her, at least she thought that's what she wanted. But he was a human, not prone to the sort of affection young girls dreamed of, and it did seem she was throwing her heart away. A horn blast snapped her out of her darkening thoughts. Dropping her comb into her footlocker, she slammed the lid down as the second blast sounded. By the third blast she was out of the door, rushing across the rocky yard to find her position in the formation.

Borlas was not there, but sergeant Maendir had assumed the first sergeant's position.

"Troop...rest."

Galadwen could immediately feel a difference between the two officers. Where Borlas radiated command, looking at Maendir's eyes showed you only anger. "All right you lot," he began in a low hiss. "We will be having guests arrive in just a few minutes." As he spoke, his eyes swept coldly across the troopers in front of him. "That giant, silver haired human lad from the hill is coming to visit. Apparently he has a friend here," the sergeant added, his cold eyes pausing for a moment on Galadwen.

"You may not have noticed during the days after the battle, but this Dalemen is still really a Daleboy. I am told he will be turning sixteen in a few weeks." This drew a wave of startled murmurs from the soldiers, but Maendir was having none of that. "I don't care if he crawls in here sucking his thumb wearing a soiled nappy," he barked loudly, silencing the troop, "there are half a dozen of you in this formation that owe him your worthless souls here in Middle Earth, and for that he is due the proper respect. Am I clear about this?"

"Yes platoon sergeant," the troop replied as one.

The corner of Maendir's mouth twitched in annoyance, but quieting his voice, he continued. "He will apparently have the crown prince of Dale with him, another boy not much older, and as his father is not here, we will be thanking the King of Dale for his aid through his son. You have fifteen minutes to be back here in formation in full kit and looking sharp. Questions?" the sergeant concluded, sweeping his gaze across the formation.

"No platoon sergeant."

With that the troop was commanded to fall out, everyone rushing off to get prepared.

"Recruit Galadwen," Maendir snapped. "You are to report to the commander at once."

"Yes platoon sergeant,"she replied sharply, turning at once towards the barracks.

Arriving at the door she found Bellamdir walking out. He smiled broadly and patted her on the shoulder.

"It's good to see you," he said. "The last time I saw you, you were unconscious and having some trouble breathing."

The unconscious part Galadwen knew about, the breathing issues were news to her. "I feel much better now," she replied. "Thank you for your concern."

Bellamdir moved past her towards Elen, the stallion standing just a few step away stomping the ground impatiently. "I hope we can talk later," he said, throwing a leg up and over his horse and sliding into place on the saddle without touching the stirrups. "I'd love to hear your side of all the gossip surrounding you."

Galadwen stopped short of the door. Gossip? She hadn't heard anything about that, but Bellamdir had already spurred Elen into motion, spinning him quickly on the gravel and heading off and a trot towards the causeway. Galadwen exhaled deeply. She always seemed to be in the middle of things she had no idea existed, and it was beginning to wear on her, but pushing this out of her mind, she turned back towards the door. It was still partially open, and she could hear voices coming from inside. Resisting the urge to listen, she knocked loudly. "Recruit Galadwen reporting."

"Enter."

It was Borlas's voice, and pushing open the door, Galadwen saw him standing with his back to her, Miriel next to him. Leindir was seated in front of them behind a simple desk.

"With your permission Sir," Borlas said, coming to attention. "I will return to the platoon to prepare for the guests." The words were plain enough, but Galadwen heard a tenseness in the tone, something underneath the words.

Leindir nodded silently, returning the two sergeant's salutes. Both swept past her, Miriel with a short nod of acknowledgment, Borlas without a glance. Taking their place in front of the desk, she saluted.

"Rest recruit," Leindir said quietly. He seemed a bit tired to Galadwen, but then he hadn't gotten any sleep the night before. "First sergeant Borlas is one of the best soldiers I know," the commander began. "Because of this, he would never tell you what I am about to tell you."

Galadwen nodded. "He doesn't agree with whatever task you are about to assign me." It wasn't a question and Galadwen wasn't sure what inspired her to make the assumption. But whatever it was, Leindir looked taken aback.

"You are a very astute young woman." Leindir drummed his fingers on the table briefly. "You are quite correct. He rightly argued that you were too young, and not properly suited for the task my wife wishes you to perform. Also, he is your training sergeant, and he disapproved of my singling you out, particularly when your focus should be on your training." Leindir paused, considering his words. "It seems, you have been mistaken for someone else by the citizens of Esgaroth."

"For Lady Galadriel."

Leindir nodded. "Or one of her progeny. You noticed that as well, I see."

Galadwen shook her head. "In truth commander, captain Belem noticed it as we traveled here this morning and pointed it out to me."

"He mentioned that," Leindir noted, "and Bellamdir heard the same rumor in the city earlier today. We have reason to believe the master will have heard of it himself by now."

"And lady Arawel has devised some way to use this as leverage against the master and the council."

"You see the direction in which this conversation is traveling very clearly," the commander affirmed.

"My I speak freely sir?"

Looking up, the commander nodded. "You may, recruit."

"I have forgiven your wife for the incident in her tent two nights ago," Galadwen said, choosing her words carefully and keeping her voice as emotionless as she could, "but she has a lot of gall to ask me to lie on her behalf with the memory of that event still so fresh."

The commander remained silent for a moment, letting the words sink in. "I don't disagree with you," he said finally, "but I will make two points in her defense. Firstly, her role is to negotiate on behalf of Lothlorien and to attain fair terms for trade and other exchanges. If you could benefit our people in that regard, she must look to use you."

Galadwen nodded quietly. She could see that as reasonable, although it didn't do anything to ease the memories.

"Secondly, I am sure she is as eager to put this behind her as you are, but she must choose the best suited person available. Her choosing you is probably as difficult for her as your being chosen is for you."

This point Galadwen was less sure she could agree with. While she had put on a good face when lady Arawel had apologized, and had spoken words of forgiveness, the shame and embarrassment caused by having a woman you admired treat you as she had were still raw. It was difficult to believe Arawel hurt as deeply. With that, her memory darted back to the previous night on the ship. Arawel had come to her pridefully at first, but within minutes her eyes had dropped, and the shame of what she had done poured from her. Galadwen would never tell anyone what Arawel had said, but it had been sincere, and contrite.

"Is what you are about to propose an order, commander?"

"Absolutely not," he replied without hesitation.

"Then I will listen to lady Arawel's proposal."

She thought she saw a slight smile cross the officer's lips, but it faded quickly, if it had ever been there. "Good. She is asking that you attend tonight's reception at the council hall. She will not ask you to lie, but if you could be vague as to your lineage, that would be just as effective."

"May I ask sir, what she hopes to gain from this?"

"She intends to use the defense you showed her this morning on the longship, that the troops from Esgaroth did not in fact assist in our relief," he explained. "While you and I may think this a reasonable interpretation, I can guarantee you that the master will not, and lady Arawel is worried that he will end all negotiations and require our departure."

Galadwen could well see that being the case.

"So," the commander continued, "while we don't believe the master would think Our Lady herself had slipped into his city unannounced, the hope is that he would proceed more slowly, worried that a direct relative of our lady is here for reasons he has yet to understand. While he will undoubtedly still be very difficult to deal with, he will allow us to remain, hoping to determine who you are and what your purpose is." Looking intently at the golden haired young woman, Leindir finished. "Time is all we can play for right now, with the hope that this will give us an opportunity to rebuild the relationship."

"And this is for tonight?"

"Yes," the commander replied. "I just sent Bellamdir to retrieve a package Lady Arawel has prepared for you. I expect you will be leaving to meet with my wife in about an hour."

"If I accept, sir," Galadwen reminded him.

This brought a smile to Leindir's face. "Yes recruit. If you accept."

"Then I accept sir, with a request."

Leindir raised a questioning eyebrow, but Galadwen shook her head. "It is not a demand sir, I will do my duty if lady Arawel believes it will help Lorien. But I have other oaths I have made."

"South End?"

Galadwen nodded. "Yes sir. I promised to carry their plight to the council and I would take up their cause this evening, with permission, sir."

Leindir grimaced. "I am not sure lady Arawel would wish you to further antagonize the council by illuminating their failure in South End," he said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "However, I was there when you made that promise and well remember the look of hope that came into their eyes. I would not deny that hope." Leindir exhaled deeply. "I will mention your desire, and argue your cause as best I can should it come to that, however I can not promise you lady Arawel will consent."

"Thank you sir," Galadwen responded with a respectful bow of her head. "I am sure you will do your best."

At that moment the shrill blast of the platoon horn sounded.

"It appears formation is called," Leindir noted. "You are dismissed recruit." Returning the salute he added, "And I am appreciative of your help with this."

Galadwen spun and was moving through the door as the third blast sounded. Some distance away most of the troop was already formed, and she noticed a new row of soldiers at the rear of the formation. The troop was fully arrayed, alternating shields and spears, everyone in armor and polished helmets. Unlike the other troops, the new arrivals were carrying thin swords on their left hips, slightly longer than usual and with a discernible curve in the blade. They also had tan leather cases on their backs holding odd bows. Shorter than those she had seen on the hill, their tips curved back upon themselves, and they appeared to be made of bone, or perhaps horn. Hustling across the yard, she found her position in the last row of her platoon. Finduilas was one row in front and to her right, but a bit far for a whisper, so looking to her right, she leaned slightly towards a thinly built elf.

"Who are the newcomers?"

The soldier didn't look at her, maintaining rest position with his spear in his right hand angling across his body. "You're the newcomer," he whispered back, "but if you're talking about the squad at the back, those are the scouts. They traveled by road bringing up the horses and arrived mid afternoon."

"Attention commander!"

Coming to attention, Galadwen located commander Leindir moving towards the formation from her right. She hadn't seen them arrive, but Earendil and Bain were with him, the commander speaking quietly to the crown prince.

"He looks very handsome," she thought, looking Earendil up and down. Pushing that thought aside with a smile, she tried to focus on the commander as was expected. Since she supposed Earendil was the person to be honored, it was a bit surprising that Leindir was talking to Bain, but after some thought she realized it was probably a rank issue, with Bain being first in line for the throne of Dale. The prince himself looked a bit flustered, nodding as the commander spoke, but looking towards the elven formation with wide, round eyes. Arriving in front of the assembled troops, Leindir indicated a spot just on his right where Bain should stand. Earendil stood to the commander's left, a pace or two behind.

"His eyes look very blue today", she noticed. Her eyes were green and very pretty she was told, but not like his. His were like a cool forest spring and she could see herself..."

An elbow dug itself firmly into her ribs, snapping her back from the daydream. It seemed, as she was off swimming in Earendil's eyes, the formation had moved to the rest position, and cursing herself, she joined the others. Fortunately, Maendir had his back to her, and if that slightly bemused smile on the commander's face was because of her, he had the decency not to interrupt the prince who had begun to address the formation during her absence.

"...and I see now why you were able to hold out for so long though you were greatly outnumbered. I will forward your thanks and my impressions to the King and insist that he come meet you in person." Bain's voice was strong, and his words kind and diplomatic. Frankly, after his rather snide comments earlier in the day, this surprised Galadwen a bit. Of course, his words were due to she and Finduilas sneaking a peak at him naked, she thought with an unexpected grin, so perhaps they could be forgiven. Earendil looked relaxed. He was standing comfortably with his hands clasped behind his back. Galadwen could see why she had been distracted by his eyes. They were looking straight at her, although as short as she was and hidden in the back, he probably couldn't see much. "Not that he hasn't seen plenty of me today already," she thought to herself, her face warming slightly at the memory. She still wasn't sure why she had done that, but she didn't...

The elbow was back, and this time it really hurt. Returning to the present, she realized the troop was now back at attention, once again without her. Pulling her left foot in, she glanced quickly to her right at the trooper with the elbow. He was looking at her from the corner of his eye, a disgusted look on his face. Shrugging sheepishly, she returned her attention to what was happening at the front of the formation.

Bain had stepped back, and the giant form of Earendil was now standing next to the commander. In Leindir's hands was a dagger in a silver accented scabbard, a carved white handle protruding from the top. It seemed to be of bone, or perhaps antler, and was carved in some manner.

"...in thanks and recognition for the services you have rendered the pack," Leindir was saying. "It is the symbol of our unit and usually awarded only to those who have trained and fought with us, proving their skill and bravery." This drew some growls of approval from the troopers, and in turn, a surprised look from Earendil and Bain.

Leindir let the noise die down before continuing. "There are times when other soldiers may fight alongside us and earn the fang, and even more rarely, when someone performs a service of such great value, that we decide to bring them into the pack for other reasons. By an overwhelming vote of the officers, we have decided that the numerous lives you saved five nights ago at the Battle of the Celduin Hills is deserving of this blade." Holding the dagger in front of him, Leindir presented it hilt first to the silver haired giant. Taking a step back, Leindir saluted formally, and when Earendil returned it, the pack erupted into snarls, howls and stomps.

For a moment Earendil looked taken aback, but Leindir beckoned him close, and leaning down to hear over the noise, listened to what the commander had to say. After that he arose again smiling, and nodding in appreciation, waited for the clamor to die down. Once it had, he remained silent for a moment, slowing moving his eyes across the gathered soldiers. It took a second for Galadwen to grasp what he was doing, but she soon saw he was quietly showing the pack the sincere appreciation he felt through just his eyes. She had to admit it was a good touch.

"I can't properly express my thanks," he began, speaking slowly in the deep voice Galadwen remembered so well. "I am not a soldier, in fact I am a barkeep for my mother, hardly a job I think qualifies me for this honor."

He still spoke deliberately, softly. Galadwen could hear him, but had to strain a bit to do so.

"I went with the guard of Dale at the request of King Bard with the hopes that my skills would be unneeded, but as they were, I am glad that I could be there for you." He held up the knife now, looking at it closely. "I see that each of you carries a blade such as this."

Galadwen looked about quickly and seeing that Earendil was right, was a bit annoyed he had noticed it before she had.

"And I am not sure that I have earned the right to wear it as you do. But with your permission, and the permission of commander Leindir, I would gladly wear this blade every day from this day forward, not to boast about my achievement, but to show the solidarity I feel with you, and to show others that i consider you all friends."

Once more the pack cheered, and as the din continued, Earendil turned to the commander, and receiving a nod, removed the belt from his waist and began fastening the dagger to it. By the time the din died down, it hung below his crossed pouches on his left hip.

"As I said before, I am a barkeep in Dale," Earendil spoke this time with considerable volume. "It is a fine place, and we do well for ourselves there." Now he began to smile broadly. "The clientele however," he continued, "are mostly dwarves. Good, solid, honorable folk all of them who love nothing more than to drink and fight. But they can't dance with a damn," he said to a laugh from the gathered soldiers. "I've heard the elves of the Golden Woods can play all manner of instruments, and that they can dance, so you are all welcome at the Kings Cup any time, and maybe together we can teach dwarves to dance too."

With a great cheer from the soldiers, Earendil turned to Leindir, and after saying a few words, moved off to Galadwen's right. Soon, the formation was called to order, and then dismissed so that they could change back into everyday clothing and prepare for dinner. Galadwen could smell stew coming from one of the low buildings, and her stomach growled as she realized she hadn't eaten since she had tried the scalding chickpeas in the morning. Her hopes for a meal were dashed quickly, as commander Leindir beckoned her over.

"Bellamdir has returned, recruit. He has left the package in your quarters. Will you be needing assistance?"

Thinking she knew what the package contained, she nodded. "If my RO is available," she said, "I would appreciate her help."

Leindir nodded. "I will have her join you."

Galadwen headed for her barracks at the end of the row. She thought she had seen Earendil enter the building next to hers, the one used by Leindir as an office earlier, and as she passed it, a pang of sadness ran through her. She had been looking forward to spending time with the handsome young man, and now that chance appeared to be lost. She briefly considered knocking on the door, but she had promised to help lady Arawel and that did not include flirting with young human men, no matter how blue their eyes. Sighing in disappointment, she continued on to her door, and heading inside, saw a bundle sitting on her bed wrapped in dark blue cloth, held closed with neatly tied twine. Walking over, she picked it up, flipping it over in her hands. It was heavier than she had expected, perhaps containing more than simply clothing. She imagined it was the blue dress she had been given during her recuperation. That was a lovely dress, well suited for the reception, and one that fit her well enough.

Thinking of it brought back memories. When she had discovered her mistress had loaned it to her, she had been thrilled. A woman she admired had given her something personal to help her as she recovered. But to have that feeling shattered just hours later had been devastating. Shaking her head to clear her mind of the memories, she pulled the strings, and placing the package on the bed in front of her, unfolded the cloth.


	21. Preparing for Battle

The dress was not blue. It was a lustrous silken white, the bodice stitched with delicate embroidery in so slightly a different shade that it left the viewer with just the impression of the trees it formed. The sleeves were a sheer, finely made lace, stitched in the pattern of Mallorn leaves. It swept from the shoulders in a loose cascade that tied off at the wrist. At the waist were a series of loops below which she could feel a framework of thin supports made of bone, or perhaps ivory. They flared the gown at the waist slightly, accentuating the hips before allowing the cloth to cascade downwards to the floor. Looking back to the bed, Galadwen realized some items had fallen out as she unwrapped the dress. There was a belt made of dozens of articulated silver leaves, each leaf slightly different from the others. Galadwen could picture how it fit into the loops to hold the gown in place on her hips. Next to this was a pair of soft leather ankle boots, like the dress, embroidered in white with trees and forest scenes. A small pouch was also there, as well as a varnished wooden box, two hands square.

"That is incredible."

Jumping, Galadwen spun back towards the door. Finduilas was there looking admiringly at the gown in the recruit's hands.

"You scared me," Galadwen said with a smile. "It is, isn't it?"

Closing the door behind her, the well muscled woman walked closer. "May I touch it?"

Galadwen smiled. "Of course."

Running her hands over the cloth, Finduilas whistled. "Silk?"

"The whole gown is silk," Galadwen confirmed, "even the lace. And look at this belt."

Picking up the belt, Finduilas looked it over closely. "Whoever crafted this would make a fine armorer," she said. Flipping it over she examined the fastenings. "The hinging on the back its extraordinary. What's in the box?"

Galadwen shrugged. "I haven't opened that yet." Reaching down, Galadwen lifted the box, feeling its weight in her hands. Snatching a quick look back at Finduilas, she saw the soldier's eyes wide with anticipation, and sliding the small hook latch to one side, she opened the container. What was inside was exquisite, and she stared at it without moving for a moment.

"Well?" asked an impatient Finduilas.

Turning the box around, Galadwen showed it to her RO.

"By the light," Finduilas whispered. "Are those diamonds?"

"I suppose so," Galadwen whispered back. "And the blue stones must be sapphires."

"What is it?"

Placing the box on the bed, Galadwen pulled the intricate piece of jewelry from it's container. It was made in the form of a net, delicate silver cords with clear white or blue jewels where the cords crossed. Walking to the window, Galadwen held it in the light, the gems, although little more than flakes, had been cut magnificently, reflecting the light in white and blue giving the effect of stars in the night sky.

"It's a hair net," Galadwen said in amazement. "See the cord around the outside? You put it over your head and bundle your hair up inside it." Galadwen's excitement was beginning to show, her voice gaining strength. "You must help me put this on, Finduilas. You have to."

Finduilas laughed at the young elf's sudden girlish enthusiasm. "I'd love to recruit," she said with a wide smile. "But those clothes are not particularly in keeping with your training. I'm sure sergeant Borlas wouldn't approve."

"These clothes aren't, and Borlas doesn't," she confirmed, returning the net to it's box and placing it back on the bed. "But he has been overruled. Look," she continued, removing her belt and tossing her tunic onto the bed, "help me get dressed and I will explain it all to you. I can't lace up the gown myself."

Rushing across the room, Finduilas began closing the windows. "One show a day," she said with a chuckle, as Galadwen undressed heedless of the wide open shutters. "I'm betting this tale is going to be a good one."

Telling the story as she dressed, Galadwen explained Leindir's proposal and what the evening was shaping up to become. Finduilas took it all in, occasionaly asking a quick question, but mostly just listening. The job took about twenty minutes, half of that time spent on combing Galadwen's hair.

"I can't wear this net unless my hair is perfect," she explained when Finduilas began to complain. Using her comb to hold her hair off the shoulders in an elegant knot, she tied the net into place on her head. Finally, pulling on the last boot, Galadwen took a deep breath and stood up. "How do I look?" she asked, biting her lower lip nervously.

Finduilas had backed away a few paces, looking her trainee over. Letting out a long whistle, she shook her head. "You're staggering."

Galadwen began to blush furiously. "I'm not beautiful enough for this dress," she said, looking at her feet in embarrassment. "But thank you for the compliment."

"No," Finduilas replied sharply. "I'm quite serious. When you told me that the Lakemen had mistaken you for Galadriel, I thought you were exaggerating, or that they were fools." Finduilas looked Galadwen up and down once more. "But they saw what I didn't. You're," she struggled for the right word, "regal."

Galadwen felt tears beginning to form, and leaping forward, she wrapped her arms around Finduilas. "Thank you," she said through a sob. "I feel regal."

Finduilas returned the hug. "That dress fits nearly perfectly. Spin around for me."

Stepping back, Galadwen complied with a graceful twirl. "It does fit well," she agreed. "Someone has hemmed it to my size."

"Well, whoever did it knew you very well," Finduilas answered, looking Galadwen over yet again. "I must say, if your tits didn't make you desirable enough already, that dress does wonders for your ass."

"Finduilas!"

The soldier laughed at Galadwen's shocked look. "Don't play pure with me, recruit," she admonished. "I saw you wiggle your tail on the beach for that strapping young human."

"I didn't wiggle anything," Galadwen fired back, her sly smile weakening the argument somewhat. "We had peeped on him, and I was just making everything even."

Finduilas stuck out her lower lip. "If you say so. I tell you what. If you want him to owe you something, Earendil is right next door. Drop by and let him get a look at you. What's the pouch got in it?" Finduilas asked before Galadwen could lie and say she hadn't thought of doing exactly that.

"I'm afraid to look," Galadwen said back, casting a nervous glance at the small, blue pouch still sitting on the bed.

Finduilas threw her hands out, asking silently what Galadwen was waiting for, and with unsteady hands, she reached out and picked it up by the drawstrings. With a deep breath for courage, she opened the pouch, emptying the contents into a palm. The emerald was about the size of Galadwen's thumb and cut perfectly, light springing from it as if it were afire. It was set it an intricately cast setting shaped like antlers, and hung on the end of a chain woven like rope. Both the setting and the chain were silver, but their luster far outshone any metal she had ever seen previously. The piece was perfect, and with her hands trembling visibly, she turned silently to Finduilas.

The RO seemed as overwhelmed as Galadwen, and without a word being spoken she took the necklace and fastened the latch behind Galadwen's neck. It was cool on her skin and fit high on her throat, holding the glittering jewel just above the rounded neckline of the gown.

"Two and a half," Finduilas said, the awe in her face clear.

Galadwen was silent for a moment, her hand caressing the necklace at her throat. It was lighter than she expected, the sharp contours of the setting contrasting with the smooth angles of the gem. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"Two and a half," Finduilas repeated. "The over under on how many marriage proposals you get tonight."

"Am I that beautiful?"

Finduilas nodded silently. "And now you look fabulously wealthy too."

Galadwen smiled. "I don't know whether to believe you, but I feel beautiful. A silver on the over."

The two women shared another hug, which was interrupted by a firm knock. Walking over, Finduilas opened the door to reveal one of the troopers from their platoon. "What is it Idril?

"I was sent to ask that," seeing Galadwen, Idril stopped suddenly, eyes widening. "Ummm…. I was…"

Galadwen drew herself up for better effect. "Come now Idril, you'd think you'd never seen a recruit before."

This drew a laugh from Finduilas. "Spit it out, Idril."

"The human is asking to meet with you, umm, recruit." Idril was clearing struggling to focus. "He has been checking the wounded, and wishes to ensure you are healing properly."

Finduilas turned to look at Galadwen, a twinkle in her eyes. "We were just talking about stopping in to see master Earendil. Thank you Idril, she will be along momentarily." Closing the door on a stunned trooper, Finduilas spread her palms out in front of her. "Seems the Creator is listening," she laughed.

Galadwen inhaled deeply. The timing did seem a little too perfect. "I don't have time."

Putting her hands on Galadwen's shoulders, Finduilas began urging her towards the door. "Nonsense. This will only take a moment."

Quickly, Galadwen found herself outside. She was far from alone, as during her time inside dinner had been served. Several large pots of stew were sitting on the wooden work tables and a line had formed, each soldier waiting their turn to fill their cup. The Dalemen, although a little further off, were also out for their meal, and to the last one, elf and man stopped what they were doing and stared.

Galadwen felt her mouth going dry, but Finduilas urged her on. "If they're going to stare," she coached in a loud whisper, "give them something to stare at. Shoulders back, head up."

Galadwen decided this advice was as good as any, and pushing her chin out, nodded self assuredly at the nearest of the gawking troopers. Holding the hem of the flowing silken gown slightly off the ground, she did her best to glide the twenty paces to the next building. Pausing only momentarily to knock and not waiting for a reply, she opened the door and swept inside, doing her best to appear like a woman used to such splendid attire. Spinning, she quickly closed the door behind her, shutting her eyes as she did so, trying to slow the racing of her heart. She hadn't expected such an audience, and it had taken all of her nerve not to flee back to her bed and hide under the the covers. After just a moment however, she heard someone behind her clearing their throat. Taking a moment to compose herself, she turned to face the room.

The crown prince was there, standing on the far side of the room his back to a window. Leindir was there as well, sitting in a chair holding a water skin. Both of them were staring openly at the young elf maid. Earendil had been sitting in a simple wooden chair, but had risen when Galadwen had entered, the top of his head just a finger or two from the rafters holding up the roof. He too was staring, but to Galadwen, his eyes were softer, his gaze more gentle.

"All three of them have seen me naked." This thought shot through her mind uninvited revealing in an instant how dramatically her life had changed in the past week.

"My lady may have overdressed."

Earendil's comment made Galadwen laugh, and broke the tension somewhat. She curtsied smoothly with a bow of her head. "I'm sorry my Lord," she replied with mock formality. "I have been commanded to attend a ball, and was preparing to depart when I got your invitation."

Earendil wrinkled his brow. "Commanded? By whom?"

Leindir cleared his throat. "That would be me. I lost track of time or else I would have asked her to visit with you as soon as the formation broke."

"Do you mean the reception at the council hall?" Bain asked. "I've been commanded to attend that as well. I must say lady Galadwen, you'll be a sensation."

"You're too kind," Galadwen said with a smile and a nod.

"So," the prince continued, clapping his hands together, "who will be her escort?"

"Escort?" Leindir had obviously not considered this.

Bain shook his head in dismay. "Commander. This isn't just a social mixer. It's an important performance of political theater. You're there to derive small nuggets of information you can use against your opponents, and of course, they're there for exactly the same reason." Wrapping an arm around the commander's shoulder, he began walking him past Earendil towards the door. "So, the women talk to the women, and the men talk to the men, and then the couples get back together and compare notes." Arriving at the door, Bain opened it while continuing his explanation. "Then of course, they switch. There's a dance and the women try to flirt information from the men, the men trying to do the same. So you see, she simply can't be thrown into that without an escort."

Bain smiled back at Earendil who was watching his friend with a cold expression. "Fortunately, Earendil here is very experienced in this sort of diplomacy, and coincidentally, asked me to bring along a set of his finest clothing for just such an occasion." Guiding the commander outside, he closed the door slowly. "I've got them in my travel bag. They're the latest style from the courts of Gondor, and I'm sure you'll agree they're suitable."

With that the door shut, and Galadwen turned to face Earendil. "You brought court clothing?"

"Bain brought the clothing," the large lad corrected, cracking a quick smile. "He was hoping to cajole me into going, and it appears he has found a way to do just that."

Galadwen sniffed, turning away slightly. "So you need to be cajoled into escorting me to this function?"

Earendil was silent for a moment. "I'm sure you know that isn't true," he replied quietly, "and if I might be so bold, trolling for compliments doesn't become you."

Galadwen turned back towards him with a smile. "It was a bit childish of me, wasn't it?"

Earendil shrugged. "You have no need for such insecurity," he assured her. "I woman asked earlier today if you were beautiful, and I assured her that you were."

Galadwen was just a pace or two from him now, looking up into his eyes, listening to the deep barritone of his voice.

"Of course, when you stepped through that door in that dress, your hair radiant, I realized that I had only just then learned what beauty was." He smiled gently down on her as he spoke. "The crown prince was wrong. You will not be a sensation, you will be a legend. A tale the men there tell their sons, and a vision the women will aspire to achieve."

Galadwen felt a tremor of fear pass through her, realizing that if at that moment he bent over to kiss her, she wouldn't stop him.

"I'd like to check the wound before we leave."

She inhaled for the first time in quite a while, relief now replacing the fear. Or maybe it was disappointment. "I'm sorry, but I don't have a chemise on under the dress," she explained.

Earendil looked around. "There's a tunic over on the bed," he said, pointing. "I will turn my back, you can lower the dress to the waist and put the tunic on."

Galadwen nodded. "I'll need you to help with the laces," and holding out her hand, Earendil passed her the shirt.

Turning around she waited for him to loosen the laces that ran from between her shoulder blades to the small of her back. This done, she heard him turn around, and sliding the gown from her shoulders and to her waist, replaced it with a tunic that was many sizes too big for her. "I'm ready."

Earendil looked cautiously over his shoulder, seemingly worried she might still be exposed.

"And after all that he saw earlier today," she thought , smiling to herself. His shyness was still as attractive to her as it had been days earlier on the river.

Confident she was properly covered, he pulled up a chair and sat down in front of her. He was far to big to fit comfortably, his knees well above his waist in an awkward position. Shaking her head at the ungainly sight, she stepped forward, raising the tunic to expose her left side. Even seated, he was still as tall as she was, but losing the nervous look in his eyes, he leaned down, his fingers softly touching the skin around the row of neat stitches. His fingers felt warm, gentle, and Galadwen felt her eyes closing, focusing on that feeling. Slowly his hands moved across her stomach, one hand moving around to the small of her back, pulling her closer. She could feel his breath now, warm on her skin. The hand in her back was dropping lower now and she began to move her hips slowly to meet it... Her eyes shot open, and a shocked gasp escaped her lips.

"Does it hurt?"

Earendil was still hunched over in front of her, his deep, blue eyes looking up with concern. His hands were where they had been before, in front of him not wandering her body as she has imagined. "Eru help me," Galadwen whispered under her breath. Her mind simply couldn't focus when he was around, and as thrilling as that was, it scared her as well.

"There's no pain," she replied, trying to pull her thoughts away from her recent fantasy. "Your hands were a little cold." It was a weak excuse, and her caregiver's expression changed slightly from concern to curiosity. He didn't pursue it however. "Is that cedar?" she said quickly, trying to stop Earendil from questioning further.

Confused, Earendil paused to think. "Yes. I had the scent added to my clothes by the washerwoman. I thought it might remind you of home," he added a bit sheepishly.

Galadwen must have wrinkled her nose slightly.

"It's too strong?"

"It is a bit," she confided, glad Earendil was focusing on something other than her reaction to his hands.

Looking a bit disappointed, he returned to the matter of the injury. "It's amazing how quickly elves heal," he said, changing the subject. Reaching out, he gently grasped Galadwen's hands and guided the tunic back into place. "I thought these stitches would need to be in place another week at least, but the wound has knitted nearly completely and they could be removed now."

"But you won't?"

Earendil shook his head. "No. There is the possibility of a small amount of bleeding if I take them out, and you look too perfect in that dress to risk a stain."

Galadwen smiled and looked down shyly. "Then you will have to come back and tend to there removal tomorrow," she said, hoping the invitation was not taken as purely medical.

"My thoughts exactly," he replied, unfolding himself from the chair and turning his back. "I will help you with the laces when you are ready."

With the dress back in place, Earendil began tightening the silver cording up her back. She could feel his hands fumbling with the task slightly, a bit odd for a man capable of sewing up a wound so neatly. "It needs to be tighter," she directed.

"Really?" He sounded puzzled. "I suppose I can, but it seems secure now. It appears to be constricting your midsection excessively already."

Galadwen laughed lightly. "You're over analyzing it. Trust me when I tell you, the effect it has is worth a little discomfort." She felt Earendil shrug, and the laces were cinched tighter, a bow fastened at the top between her shoulders. Turning, she stepped back. "What do you think?"

"I see now what you mean," he answered. "Although I would have thought it impossible, the fit of the dress makes your feminine curves even more attractive."

Galadwen beamed. "I just had someone else say something similar. Your description was much more eloquent."

But Earendil seemed not to be listening, his eyes had narrowed and he seemed focused on something else.

"Earendil?"

The big man snapped his eyes back to hers. "I'm sorry. If you would permit me, I would like to look more closely at your necklace."

"Of course," Galadwen agreed.

Reaching out, he slid his fingers gently across her throat, lifting the jewel from her skin. He leaned in close, his breath warm, the memory of her recent fantasy rushing back.

"It's Mithril," he said softly. "Perfect craftsmanship. You could buy the greatest house in Esgaroth with this necklace, and still have money left over for the furnishings."

Galadwen couldn't believe this. "It's a gift, like all of this, from lady Arawel for me to wear to the reception," she explained. "It's gorgeous, but I'm sure it's just well wrought silver."

Gently pulling his hand away, Earendil disagreed. "I have seen several items made of true silver while visiting the dwarves," he said. "This is much lighter than silver, and if I were to use my knife to try and mark it, I would do nothing more than chip my blade." Earendil looked sincerely into Galadwen's eyes. "I assure you my lady," he said softly, "while I'm sure lady Arawel is a well respected woman, this necklace is of the type worn by queens."

Galadwen was stunned, but as if on cue, there was a knock on the door.

"Your clothes, my lord," came a voice from the outside. It was Bain, and with a dramatic sigh, Earendil went to the door.

"I hope everything went well," the prince said with a knowing grin. "I brought your clothes." He held forward a black cloth roll with one of the floppy hats Galadwen had seen Bellamdir wearing balanced on top.

"And boots." Bending over, Bain presented his friend with a pair of calf high, black leather boots, shined impeccably.

"You brought all of this?" Earendil asked, taking the boots from the grinning Bain.

"I did."

"Even though I specifically told you not to?"

Galadwen was sure the presence of the clothing was no longer in doubt, and finding Earendil's frustrated tone amusing, covered her smile with her hand.

With a sad shake of his head, Bain shrugged. "My friend, you had to know I wasn't going to be visiting that pit of snakes without you there for support." Seeing Galadwen's expression, Bain added, "and would you allow this magnificent woman to face the political machinations of Esgaroth without a champion at her side."

Although Bain could have had no way of knowing she would be attending the reception, Galadwen was enjoying this and decided to get involved. "Your thoughtfulness is appreciated, your highness." She added a courtesy and a flutter of her eyelashes for good measure, receiving a satisfyingly disgusted grunt from the annoyed barkeep.

Then, he turned and fixed Galadwen with a disturbing smile. "As it seems my attendance at tonight's event has been decided without my input," the tall lad said in a calm tone, "I will be needing some privacy so that I might change. And we wouldn't want to keep your audience waiting, my lady." Seeing Galadwen's confused look, Earendil's off-putting smile widened somewhat.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, pushing by Earendil to look out the door.

In the yard, the pack had all gotten their dinners and were now seated at the benches happily downing their meals and talking loudly to each other. The Dalemen seemed to have joined them, the two units crowded together at the nearest tables. At Galadwen's appearance in the doorway, and cheer rose from the gathered back out of sight, Galadwen felt her heart racing, the sound of the soldiers laughter filling her ears.

"Why are they all sitting looking at the door?" She asked, looking desperately first at Bain, and then at Earendil.

"My lady," Bain replied. "They are here to gaze upon your beauty, and," he continued, his voice quieting considerably. "It is rumored that this will be the first time a gentleman has come calling for you."

Galadwen buried her face in her hands, the heat in her cheeks telling her she was blushing furiously. "How would they know that?", she hissed.

"They must be guessing." The voice came from outside and was definitely Finduilas.

"I swear I'll stab her in her sleep," Galadwen cursed, peeking around the door frame and trying to spot the RO.

"I must insist on some privacy," she heard Earendil say from behind her, and feeling his hand between her shoulder blades, she received a sharp shove propelling her through the door and outside. Spinning to rush back, she found the door closed unceremoniously in her face, her attempt to force it back open useless. A great round of applause burst out from behind, and composing herself as best she could, she turned to face the mob. As she thought, most of the Dalemen were there as well, perhaps seventy soldiers between both units, all applauding energetically with the occasional wolf call or whistle. They were shoveling stew into their mouths as they cheered, giving the overwhelmed elf maiden the distinct feeling they were watching a tournament with her as the main attraction.

Between her and the noisy crowd were several figures. Leindir was there, already mounted on his dun, who despite the ruckus still seemed half asleep. Bellamdir was there as well, one hand holding the reins of his golden palomino, the other hand leading a brown stallion. He was talking softly to each of them in turn, calming them as the loud cheering continued. Bain was there, having just climbed onto a beautiful white horse and, Galadwen noted, using his elevated position to get a good look at Finduilas, who was standing nearby with Miriel. Acknowledging the howls with what she hoped was a disinterested nod, she moved towards the horses, Finduilas and Miriel stepping forward to meet her.

"Your ass still looks great," Finduilas joked. "Don't you agree platoon sergeant?"

Miriel gave Finduilas a cold look, but there seemed to be a slight twitch in the corner of her mouth.

"You clean up well, recruit Galadwen," Miriel said simply. "The spear and I will assist you to mount."

"I don't need help getting on a horse," Galadwen complained, surprised at the offer. But Miriel shook her head.

"In that dress you would find it difficult," she explained. "And then there is the matter of the saddle."

Looking past Miriel, she saw Bellamdir moving towards her leading Elan. "Oh by the Valar, no! Sidesaddle?"

Miriel shrugged. "It does lend an air of nobility for a lady to ride sidesaddle." That twitch in the corner of Miriel's mouth was back, now looking a lot like a smile. "And honestly, in that gown a standard saddle is simply impractical. Put your back to the horse and extend your arms," she directed. "Finduilas and I will lift you and arrange your dress once you are set."

The palomino was in place now, it's coat freshly brushed and it's mane braided intricately close to its neck. With as much poise as she could muster, she walked over, and turning around, held out her arms. With her providing a small leap, she was lifted onto the saddle by the two women, who immediately began pulling her gown out from under her and arranging it neatly over the rear of the mount. Galadwen had never ridden sidesaddle, or in a gown, and was very conscious of the saddle leather against her bare skin. But after hooking her legs around the two pommels and sliding her foot into the stirrup, she felt solidly in place, and as long as Elen didn't go faster than a trot, she would be fine. This whole affair had been of great entertainment value to the gathered men.

"You look like a princess," a man's voice cried out at one point, leading Galadwen to wave in what she imagined was an imperious manner. This brought on gales of laughter and yet more cheers, and from the back of the crowd, a disbelieving shake of the head from Borlas. Galadwen saw he was smiling, however, and this calmed the worry that he would hold this against her. As she considered that, a murmur ran through the crowd, men pointing and elbowing their neighbors. Following their gaze, Galadwen looked back to the barracks as Earendil, ducking to pass through the door, stepped out into the early evening sun.

Her breath caught in her throat when she first saw him. The clothing was exquisite, and clearly tailored specifically for him. It was of a style Galadwen had not seen before, a black fitted jacket with buttons up the front, and straight black trousers. They were close to the leg, not loose fitting like most she had seen, and tucked at the calf into polished black boots. The jacket was short, tapering inwards from his shoulders, and stopping just above the waist. It buttoned up to a small v shaped notch at the throat which in turn led into a short upright collar. The buttonholes were stitched around in silver thread, and thin highlights of silver lined the cuffs and collar. The crest of Dale, a silver tower with a black arrow running vertically, stood prominently on his left breast, and the hat that had looked so silly on Bellamdir, looked striking on Earendil, sable with a silver feather. She saw with a smile he had fastened the dagger presented to him earlier to his left hip, the white bone wolfs head contrasting dramatically with his clothing.

"My lord," came a man's voice from the gathered onlookers, and moving her attention back to the crowd, Galadwen saw several of the Dalemen bowing towards their large friend as he walked towards the horses. There was a mocking quality to their actions, and as Earendil arrived at her side, she could see he was embarrassed and angry.

Straightening her back, she dipped her head, spreading her hands out on her lap palms up. "I am honored by your offer to escort me, my lord," Galadwen said formally, holding her pose for several seconds.

Turning his angry gaze on Galadwen, his features softened, and with a smile he gracefully returned her bow. "The honor to be attending you is mine, my lady. I hope you find my service acceptable."

This drew appreciative whistles and applause from the gathered soldiers, leaving those mocking the silver haired boy looking at each other in embarrassment.

Nudging his horse forward, Leindir drew up next to Galadwen. "We should be on our way," he urged. The quarter bell has struck once already and we are late."

Touching Galadwen gently on the leg, Finduilas beckoned for her to lean closer. "He's incredible in those clothes," she said in a low whisper. "Enjoy yourself, but don't lose control."

Galadwen smiled. "I don't think that will be a problem," she whispered back,

Finduilas shrugged. "You haven't been standing behind him. You're not the only one whose clothes make their ass look great."

Raising her eyebrows in shock, Galadwen sat upright as Earendil took the reigns of Elen. Bellamdir sprung on to the brown stallion, falling in behind Earendil as he lead the palomino towards the causeway.

"Show young Galadwen a good time," came a yell from behind, followed by raucous laughter. Galadwen felt her face burn once again, but Earendil spoke quietly in her ear.

"You will be wonderful this evening," he said in his low, reassuring voice. "And I will be there for you if you need me."

On the spur of the moment, Galadwen leaned over and gently kissed her escort on the cheek. Shocked, he looked at her with questioning eyes. "That was for the cedar you added to your clothes," she said, remembering the disappointment in his face when she had said the scent was too strong.

"I thought you didn't like it?"

"It was a bit much," she confirmed, "but that you'd consider my feelings and of how the smell might remind me of home, that was immensely thoughtful of you and deserving of thanks."

Earendil smiled, returning his attention to guiding the horse. "You're welcome."

Bending over once more, she quickly kissed him again. "That," she explained before he could ask, "was simply because I wanted to."

She had been dreading the walk through the city, more of a parade really. But her confidence was growing after that second kiss and the trip no longer held the terror it had moments earlier. She wasn't sure why, but she knew tonight would be an important one in her life. She hoped it would have something to do with Earendil, but somehow she didn't think so. So as they began crossing the causeway into the city, and as the crowds parted to stare and let her pass, she decided not to worry about it, and to simply let it happen. Nodding and smiling to the staring faces in the street, she let Galadwen go, and assumed the role of the golden haired mystery woman of Lothlórien.


	22. The Princess of the Galadhrim

If the Lothloriens had intended to make a quiet entrance, they had failed spectacularly. Holgier shook his head slowly and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on, and could tell already this night was not going to go the way the Master had planned. In turn, that would make his head worse.

Lady Arawel and Lord Leindir had arrived first, their announcement as dignitaries of the Golden Wood causing a small stir. The room had turned their eyes to watch the couple descend the broad entry stairs, but most quickly turned back to whatever gossip they had been previously discussing. The upper class of Laketown liked newcomers, particularly exotic foreigners, and elves from Lothlorien were almost as exotic as they came, but they were willing to wait their turn to meet the strangers.

Holgier thought this might not be the best plan. Those same people were still waiting to meet Khalim, at least in a setting other than business. The stranger had secluded himself from the society of Esgaroth, and although he was a successful trader of eastern goods, a member of the traders guild, and was invited to every function, he had never made an appearance. Until tonight.

Holgier could see him, seated alone in a corner at the far end of the hall. He was clothed as he always was, in a black robe from his shoulders to his feet. His head and face were wrapped in a long length of white cloth, concealing his hair and face completely. Even his eyes were concealed as he looked out on the world through a thin layer of light colored silk. He was an Easterling, at least that is what he claimed, and as none had ever visited Esgaroth before there was little reason to argue the point. He had first arrived almost two years ago as the final piles that would carry the new city were being driven into the lake floor. He brought with him the first shipment of fire peppers to reach the North, along with silks as fine as any made outside of Lorien, and he had earned a tidy profit from it. Not enough to afford the modest mansion he had purchased in the merchant quarter, but he had bought it anyhow, indicating that beyond trading, he had other sources of money.

Ranulf had immediately demanded that every detail of the new arrival's life be determined, but this had proven to be a very difficult task. Firstly, no guests were ever permitted in his home. When asked, politely since no-one was sure what would anger an Easterling, he simply said it was not his custom to welcome guests. Secondly there was the matter of getting past his guards.

They were impossible to forget as, despite the unwritten rule that forbade them at functions of this sort, four of them were with him now. They were tall, thin people, lithe of limb and nimble. Like their master, they wore head coverings hiding their features, but unlike him the had mail armor, blackened by some means, covered with dark blue tabards. They never spoke, and although their eyes were covered in the same manner as their master's and could not be seen, it always felt as if they were glaring at you.

They were also elves. This was never mentioned directly, but the people of Laketown had known enough wood elves to recognize one of their cousins, even if they covered their faces with what was apparently called a turban. Holgier had never heard of eastern elves, but of course that meant nothing, as no had ever been to the kingdoms of Rhun and returned to tell of it.

Then, last summer, the strange Easterling had disappeared for a time. Months went by in fact without his making an appearance, and so Holgier had sent a trio of sneaks to break into his house in his absence, one of whom had returned. Apparently Khalim had gone, but not his guards, and as the other two sneaks never turned up Holgier assumed the bodies had been disposed of efficiently. When Khalim had returned a few months ago, he had yet more of the fire pepper, along with an enormous supply of bath soaps. This had seemed an odd luxury to bring to the wilds of the North, but they had caught on quickly with the ladies of the wealthier families, and he had sold them at many times the cost of more traditional soap. That he had chosen this night to make his first social appearance made Holgier's head hurt even more.

Returning his attention to the elves, Holgier watched as the descended the stairs and began to cross the hall. The elves both smiled, in a rather practiced way, and shook the occasional hand as they crossed the main hall to where Ranulf sat behind a long table which ran the length of the room. He was slightly elevated over his honored guests, the King of Dale sitting to his right, with the dwarven brothers, Balin and Dwalin. Holgier himself was some distance away, his back to the wall watching the room, so he couldn't hear what was said but the ambassador stepped forward and exchanged what appeared to be some pleasantries, before moving to her left to speak with Bard. Once again Holgier noted her body language was more deferential to the tall King, something Ranulf certainly recognized, his eyes fixed intently on the scene as his guests spoke. Presently an aide approached, and gesturing to the far side of the master, attempted to move the elves to the open chairs on the left of the rotund politician, but rising from their seats, the dwarves made room for the new arrivals.

Holgier shook his head. "Not going well at all," he said softly to no one. Ranulf was clearly agitated, his tongue flicking across his lips like a toad. It had been his intent to separate these two parties, but clearly there had been other plans made.

"Lady Galadwen of Lothlorien and Lord Earendil of the Kingdom of Dale."

The spymaster snapped his attention back to the top of the stairs. Outside, darkness was beginning to fall as the sun dropped behind the distant mountains. The hall had been brightly lit with torches near the entrances, and innumerable small oil fed lanterns along the walls and hung in chandeliers overhead. The room was humming with the din of innumerable conversations, but in an instant it fell silent. The rumors about the golden haired elf were now widely known, and Holgier was not the only one with his eye on the stairs.

Her dress almost shone, a silken white with sublime embellishments, flashes of blue and white glinting amidst golden hair arranged neatly off her shoulders. The gown flared at the hip, making the elf's already formidable figure even more alluring, and about her neck was a single green jewel. It drew your eye, not only because of the gem's fire, but because of the luster of it's chain and setting. Holgier couldn't be sure from this distance, but it had the look of mithril, a metal he'd only seen worn on a few occasions by King Dain of Erebor. If it was mithril, the necklace was worth more than every jewel worn by every lady in the hall combined, and would be worn only by royalty. A princess perhaps? The small voice in his head asking who she was began to scream.

As he had noted before, she was not tall, a fact emphasized by the towering, silver haired figure of the daleman next to her, but she held herself erect, head up and eyes focused on the crowd below her in the hall. One would think she was well used to being the center of attention. Beginning down the broad wooden staircase, Holgier couldn't help but notice she carried herself in a way he was unused to. There were many beauties in the upper ranks of Esgaroth's society, but unlike them, this elven beauty smiled warmly, inviting smiles in return from those nearest to her. She was proud, but not arrogant or aloof. If this was an act, she was putting on a damn fine show, and if it wasn't, she would have every man in Laketown, and half the women, eating from her palm by the end of the evening. For the first time, Holgier began to wonder if the rumor he had been quietly promoting about her might be true.

Reaching the main floor, the crowd began to part to let her through, but she proceeded without haste. Stopping to admire a gown on an older matron or the eyes of a young debutante, the assembled socialites soon realized she was approachable and moved towards her forming a line several deep from the foot of the stairs to the main table. She stopped to talk with many of them, short comments with smiles and light touches. Holgier cursed his positioning, unable to hear what was said, but whatever was said, it's effect was evident. She left a trail of beaming faces behind her. Except perhaps for Dwalin. He and his brother were both of the Ten, and the spymaster knew him from the bluish tint to his beard. Whatever Galadwen said to Dwalin left him visibly flustered, but caused his brother to laugh loudly, bow formally to kiss the elf maid's hand, and then slap his brother hard enough on the back that it could be heard clearly across the hall.

By now she had made her way across the room and was standing in front of master Ranulf. She made a graceful, deep curtsy, hands to her sides and palms outwards. He had only received a polite bow from the elven ambassador, and a broad smile cracked his face for a moment. But only for a moment. Holgier saw it at the same time as Ranulf, and he was sure the others in the hall noticed as well. Galadwen kept her eyes locked on the Master of Esgaroth, fixing him with her gaze. She smiled warmly, but didn't look down as one would expect.

"She's sizing him up," Holgier said softly to himself. It was as if he could read her thoughts. "I acknowledge your position, but not your authority over me. I am your equal and will not accept being seen as anything less."

Ordinarily Holgier would think this a foolish act. Why antagonize the man with whom you must soon make a trade deal? But in this case? Ranulf had left the elves to fend for themselves, and at this moment and in this hall, Holgier knew who would win a popularity contest. It was not the man sitting in his raised chair. The throbbing in the spy master's temples worsened.

Turning smoothly to her right, Galadwen walked to the end of the dining table, chatting amicably upon occasion as she went, and rounding it returned to its center, waiting patiently for Earendil to pull out the chair immediately to the master's left intended for the ambassador and her escort. Smiling politely to Ranulf, she unfolded the napkin in front of her and laid it on her lap. Holgier laughed quietly at this. That damn girl knew she hadn't been invited, but had taken the place of honor reserved for the Arawel without so much as blinking. Holgier burst into a chuckle as a particularly ribald thought danced through his mind. He was almost positive he was wrong, but Galadwen seemed to have a big pair of balls.

The first course arrived shortly thereafter, and not a moment too soon for Ranulf. To his right Bard was chatting in an animated fashion to Arawel, something Ranulf had tried specifically to avoid, while on his left sat the girl he assumed was sent by the witch of the Golden Woods to spy on him. Galadwen periodically attempted to engage the Master in small talk, but Ranulf buried himself into his dinner, effectively avoiding any meaningful conversation.

The meal ended, pastries and drinks were placed on tables strategically located throughout the hall, and the cacophonous wail of that damned band began making Holgier's head pound even more. After promising himself to use some of the coins that were coming his way to pay for the musicians murders, Holgier began moving through the room to stand nearer Ranulf. The long dining table was being cleared away, and the next two hours would be the important ones from the spy's perspective. It would be two hours of mingling, of informal meetings and of testing the waters. It was at events like this that the groundwork for almost all of the political schemes of Esgaroth began. Holgier smiled, remembering that it was at an event like this that the plan he was putting into place had been conceived.

The Master stood near to where his seat had once been, centered along the wall facing the stairs with the other members of the council scattered about him talking in small groups. Holgier could see three of his men, playing the roles of waitstaff, circulating amid the crowd. Seeing one of them fumbling with a tray of honey rolls, he made a note to himself to see that they got some training in these more menial tasks. But however poor their service skills, he knew that they would realize an important conversation when they heard one and see that it got back to him. Of course there were also many others in the crowd willing to pass on information. He would hear from them over the coming days as well and coins would be handed out, favors promised. But for this evening, it was the Lothloriens and their relationship with Dale that interested him most.

The thin man fell into position several paces behind Ranulf, his back once more against a wall. From here he would be able to overhear any conversations involving his employer. Hulda was there, a pace behind Ranulf. She was carrying a quill and parchment attached by a small clamp to a board, her role that night was to be a scribe, recording items the Master deemed important. Taking a step backwards, she turned her head slightly towards Holgier.

"Will you be in the crowd?" he asked.

The small woman nodded. "I will be turning over these duties in a moment to Aegir," she explained. "I will get a feel as to the impression our elvish guests are making with the merchants."

Holgier made a short noise in his throat. "I think we both can hazard a good guess at that already."

Hulda nodded without looking back. "Still. Some detail would be advantageous." The secretary's eyes slid to the right a bit, focusing on the tall figure of Earendil clearly visible above the other guests halfway across the busy room. "A pity at my age I can't attract that lad's attentions," she purred.

Holgier smiled slightly at this. Even though they could not count each other as friends, Hulda and he shared common ground. They both worked for Ranulf a long time, deriveding a great deal of power from their proximity to the master of Esgaroth. In all that time working together, he had never heard Hulda purr before.

"You are a lovely woman, Hulda," Holgier lied. "I'm sure if you put your…"

Hulda waved her hand telling Holgier to stop. "Shovel your horseshite into someone else's stall," Hulda shot back, although there was a chuckle in her voice. "I am old enough to have borne that boy, and wearing this gown I look like six pounds of potatoes in a ten pound sack."

Holgier had to admit that was true. The gown was nice enough, but clearly wasn't fitted to it's wearer. Hulda had simply thrown it over her shoulders and tied her hair up before coming to the reception that night.

"And anyway," she continued. "He has eyes for another."

This was news, and the one eyed spy pushed himself off of the wall to get a bit closer to the small woman.

Feeling his interest behind her, Hulda clucked in annoyance. "Don't tell me the spymaster of Esgaroth missed something as obvious as that?"

Holgier said nothing, refusing the bait.

"He is besotted with that golden haired elven bitch," she continued in a bitter voice that surprised the spy. "He hovers over her like he can't get enough of her sweet stink." After a brief silence, Hulda finally turned her head slightly to look at the man behind her from the corner of her eye. "You really didn't see this?"

Holgier pursed his lips. "He is her bodyguard," he insisted. "If he wants to stuff the girl, well what man here doesn't?"

Hulda shook her head sadly. "While I believe you'd love to wet your manhood in that witch," she said quietly, "I'd advise against it. That boy may be young, and perhaps not all that bright, but his eyes dote on that girl at every moment and were you to touch her, I feel we'd be pulling pieces of you from the chandeliers for a month."

Holgier turned his eyes back to the daleman for a moment. He had always dismissed this lad as just another dull witted barkeep, but with Hulda's warning in his mind, he looked again. His size was nothing new, but for the first time he looked at his mass, his muscle. That black outfit he wore fit him perfectly, showing off powerful shoulders and a muscular back. His waist was small for a man of his size, and for the first time Holgier noted how he moved. It was a smooth, graceful, dangerous glide. How had he missed this?

But he knew the reason, and he cursed himself silently for it. He had allowed himself to be influenced by Ranulf, who had a real dislike for the boy's mother. The master had bought Tindomial's tavern in old Laketown just weeks before Smaug set upon the city, and then had the gall to demand she return the money. When he tried to strike the woman, she had thrashed him soundly with a mop, the politician's two guards pounded senseless by the lad himself, and the trio deposited unceremoniously in the street. Ranulf's complaint to Bard concerning this treatment had received a polite "I will have it looked into," and not a damn thing more. Since that time his employer had derided and belittled everything to do with the family, and Holgier had bought into it without questioning it's source. That oversight would have to be rectified, but in the meantime he had tonight to worry about.

"You're sure about the boy's feelings towards Galadwen?"

Hulda had turned to face the room once again, but she nodded slowly in response. "Ask any woman in the hall with a few seasons under her belt," she advised. "Not the girls. They'll be fixated on his biceps and the contents of his trousers and not have noticed much more. Try a woman of my years who takes in the whole picture." There was a pause. "Not that I failed to be impressed by the contents of his trousers, mind you."

Holgier grimaced. "Perhaps that is more than I need to know."

Hulda laughed openly at that, a sharp, cold, unpleasant bark of a sound. "Something I thought I would never hear from you, spymaster," she hissed over her shoulder. "You complaining about too much information."

A young, round man, perhaps still in his teens was approaching now, his red face sweating and looking much like an overripe melon.

"I will tell you what I find out," the secretary said quietly, and handing the board to the new arrival, walked out onto the main floor.

The mingling had begun, with the men at one end of the hall near the ale casks, and the women at the far end. Groups had begun to form, the noise of the chatter rising, and to Holgier's relief, mostly drowning out the damned band. He looked again for Earendil's striking silver hair and found him still with the women, but he could see him looking down, probably speaking to his charge who was hidden behind the crowd. After a few words he nodded, and turning reluctantly, left towards the far end joining a small cluster of young men. Holgier could make out the Crown Prince of Dale in the group, so Earendil was not stretching his boundaries much.

The master was visited by the usual crowd. Merchants with business in Laketown and a few others simply looking to be seen in the presence of power. It amounted to nothing, and Holgier found himself trying to follow Galadwen or Arawel as they moved through the crowd. Arawel was easy enough to see. Although of average height for an elf, she was taller than most of the women there and she moved from group to group never staying more than a few minutes. Galadwen was harder to spot, the light reflected from her hairnet glinting out from the crowd upon occasion, a momentary flash of her beautiful gown. She was not hard to locate however, as there was always a crowd with her as she moved through the room.

After an hour, the couples rejoined each other, spending a few minutes comparing notes. Presently, the band broke into a rhythmic tune, and moving towards the walls, the crowd made room for the night's final act of political theater. Crossing the open floor, the men invited ladies to dance, an opportunity for those of different families and opposing views to interact, perhaps strike a deal or present an opportunity.

Galadwen was set upon by four suitors almost immediately. Smiling politely to them all, she took the hand of ancient man who was delighted, and perhaps a bit shocked, to be the center of her attentions. Holgier knew the codger, a merchant of only moderate standing by the name of Mord who made his living in spices. The spy could see no advantage to picking him, the others offering their hands were all more influential, but she looked brightly up at her partner who returned the gaze in kind. Breaking all norms, poor Mord soon felt a tap on his shoulder, and his place was taken by another of the guests, and shortly thereafter another. It was traditional to allow each couple to finish a dance, giving them several minutes to talk and see if they had common ground, but this practice was thrown aside for the golden haired stranger. In a matter of four songs, she had danced with at least a dozen men, losing her smiling composure only once when Halla, the wife of Laketown's most successful banker, and a man with a seat on the council, tapped in for her turn with the beautiful elf.

The thin spy found himself smiling broadly at this. Halla was well known for fishing from both sides of the dock, but cutting in to dance with another woman, well that was probably a first. Galadwen had seemed shocked for a moment, but regained her poise quickly, starting up a conversation as they spun across the floor. Holgier noted the elf moving her arm under Halla's and wrapping it around the mature woman's waist. "Taking the lead," he thought as his smile widened. He still didn't know who this girl was, but Holgier liked her style.

Leaving the elf maid for a moment, Holgier looked for Earendil. He was standing with Bain and a group of other single men, but making no move to introduce himself to the cluster of available girls standing together on the opposite side of the floor. Within a moment though, the massive found himself alone, even Bain abandoning him to go find a partner for a particularly slow song. With the striking young man making no move to cross the floor, once again norms broke down. An attractive young lady in a green gown stepped away from the pack and began to cross the floor. With one of their number willing to take the chance, it was if a dam broke. Half a dozen others began to cross the floor simultaneously, the entire scene turning into a comedy as walking turned to striding, turned to running, each girl putting decorum aside to be the first to arrive.

For the first time since his arrival at the top of the stairs, Earendil lost the cold stare he had nursing. He instead looked overwhelmed, and finally terrified.

"Not threatened by high society, but a bit uncomfortable around the fairer sex," Holgier noted to himself. He wasn't sure how that might benefit him, but he filed it away.

After a few seconds of bickering, the girl in the green dress took control, grabbing the confused lad by the hand a pulling him onto the floor. He struggled with the steps at first, stepping on the poor girl's foot on one occasion, which considering his size must have been painful. But within a few minutes that grace Holgier had noticed earlier returned and he was spinning through the forms with a delighted debutante in his arms. With all the rules gone for the evening, the assumption that a woman could not tap in also fell, and much like Galadwen, he was soon dancing with two, or even three ladies a song. Bain gave him a wide smile whenever he danced past, but Earendil didn't seem as thrilled. His eyes kept wandering the floor trying to find Galadwen.

"He is either a very dedicated guard, or Hulda was right," the spy thought.

The dance also lasted an hour with both Galadwen and Earendil on the floor the entire time. As the last song ended, Galadwen seemed a bit tired, and Earendil truly relieved. His last partner had been a middle aged widow, and a wealthy merchant in her own right. She had danced with her body pressed closely against her much younger partner, and unless Holgier's eye was giving him trouble, the grinding motion she insisted on using was not entirely in time with the rhythm of the music. After the final note, the band fell silent, and with a bow the dancers left the floor. Ranulf strode forward to make his traditional farewell and close out the festivities, but as he began to launch into his prepared statements he realized he was not alone. Earendil was still there, an enormous and immobile form in elegant black and silver looking silently to his left. Following the lad's eyes, Holgier could see he was looking towards Arawel and Leindir who were standing with Bard, Bain and several merchants from Esgaroth who frequently had business in Dale.

And of course Galadwen was with them. She had been chatting with one of the merchants, but now seemed to have broken off mid sentence, her eyes fixed on the large man dominating the middle of the floor. Ranulf cleared his throat, perhaps hoping to get Earendil's attention, but instead the aaleman turned to the band.

"Gentlemen, do you know 'A Rose Blooms in Winter'"?

"Hulda was right," Holgier muttered quietly.

'A Rose Blooms in Winter' told the story of a girl who must leave her true love for a long trip. Fearful in her absence he will forget her a find another, she gives him a rose to remember her by, and when she returns a year later, he hands her back the rose, still as fresh as the day she had given it to him. He explains that it was kept alive through a long, lonely winter by his refusing all others, and by the strength of his love for her. The steps of the dance were the same as many of the other songs that had been played that evening, but at a far slower cadence. There was really no other way to put it. It was a dance for lovers.

"Or for those who want to be," Holgier added to himself.

"We do my Lord." It was the leader of band, and hearing his reply, Earendil turned back towards Galadwen. He extended his hand towards her, palm open and saying nothing, bowed his head slightly.

Holgier focused intently on the girl, her response was going to be very important if he wanted to understand who she was. As always, she held herself upright, back straight, chin up. Her eyes didn't flicker, and she showed no uncertainty, she simply stood still as if reading the face of the towering man waiting for her on the floor. Then she nodded her head slightly in return, and moving slowly forward, gracefully walked out onto the polished wood. Holgier had seen what he was looking for. Galadwen had not even glanced towards Arawel or Leindir. She had not looked for permission. Even when her actions would embarrass the leader of Laketown, she felt confident enough to do so without fear and without consultation. Holgier didn't know who she was, but now he thought he knew who she wasn't. Until he understood more, Ranulf would have to be careful.

Seeing Galadwen's elegant, elven form moving onto the floor, Ranulf had looked around in confusion. It took him a moment, but when the band struck the opening chord, and as Earendil bowed deeply in response to Galadwen's low curtsy, he finally understood he was being upstaged. He backed off slowly, perhaps still unwilling to give up the floor, but whatever he did, it was irrelevant to the two figures he left behind. They moved slowly into each other's arms, and despite the dramatic size difference, she seemed comfortable in his embrace. As the music swelled into it's sad, slow rhythm, the couple began to turn in time to it's strains. Unlike the previous hour of music, no others chose to join them. To interrupt this moment, to step onto the floor at that time was unthinkable, and the crowd remained silent, witnesses to something they didn't quite understand, but knew they should see. There were no great shows of skill, no dips or lifts, although it seemed to Holgier that Earendil could have tossed the petite woman about as he saw fit. Instead it was slow. Meaningful. Quiet. Intense.

For three and a half minutes the music played in a room crowed with onlookers, none of whom existed to the elf maid and her escort. Earendil held her close, their bodies touching and moving flawlessly together. Galadwen danced with her eyes closed, her head on his chest. His eyes never left her, in fact Holgier wasn't even sure he blinked, and when the last strains died mournfully away, they both took a small step backwards without speaking. His simple bow matched her graceful curtsy. Finally the room could breath again, their recent silence replaced by quiet, appreciative murmuring. But if those gathered thought the show was over, they were about to be proven wrong.

The Master had retreated from the floor entirely during the dance, but now he moved forward again, assuming his time had finally come. Heading for the center of the room once more, he again pulled up short, this time stopped by the piercing eyes of the young elf.

"We will talk." The words were said slowly.

Her upright posture and out thrust chin were beginning to grow on Holgier. She was small, but carried herself much larger, and he knew from her first word that Ranulf didn't stand a chance.

Shocked, the large man stepped a quick pace backwards, raising his hands reflexively as if he feared being struck. "M…my lady Galadwen," he stammered. "Now is not really the time. I have some formalities that…"

"Now is the time, Master Ranulf," she corrected. "I tried discussing matters more discreetly during dinner, but your focus was on devouring a roast. Were I suspicious woman, I would have thought you were avoiding me." Her voice was quiet, measured, but in the complete silence of the hall it carried clearly. "Your people in South End are starving," she said plainly. "There were attacked by an orcish warband, their crops destroyed, and many of their menfolk slain."

Galadwen paused momentarily to allow the words to sink in and Holgier had to admire the theater of it. Everyone in the room waited eagerly for her next words and a brief smile flashed across the spy's face. "Everyone except poor, fat Ranulf."

"I am told you informed them that their town was not profitable enough to be worthy of aid." Again she paused for effect. "I feel they must have misunderstood?"

This was definitely a question and Holgier watched with interest as Ranulf struggled to formulate an answer. Of course what the elf said was essentially true. "Insufficient taxation to warrant aid," was probably a more accurate quote. But regardless of the noun used, it was not a charge that could go uncontested. Of course, many in the room shared the Master's opinion regarding the investment needed to rebuild South End. It had little use other than as a portage around the falls, and from a practical point of view it was far too large. It was distant from Laketown, difficult to defend, and it's land no more bountiful then acreage far closer to the city. Better that the town fail and be replaced by a much smaller settlement focused on trade and transport down the river.

But the common Lakeman, be he from Esgaroth, Hookley or Riversmouth, shared deep family and business ties to people living all around the Long Lake. If news of Ranulf's statement left this hall, and at this point the Father himself wasn't going to be able to stop that from happening, then the master's future could well be in doubt.

Ranulf grasped at his hands and licked his lips furiously, but after a moment the politician in him took over. "My dear Lady Galadwen, I assure you nothing could be further from the truth." He looked about the hall looking for friendly faces and trying to win the crowd over to his side. "I was unaware of the depth of the suffering that had befallen our fellow citizens in South End. I will be sure to bring this up in council when we meet next." This drew some murmurs of support from those gathered, bringing a smile to the master's lips.

"And when will that be?" Galadwen's tone remained calm and deliberate.

"Just more than two weeks, my Lady."

If Holgier hadn't been paying close attention he would have missed it, but for the first time the young elf's facade cracked. Her eyes widened slightly, anger flashing through them, and Ranulf once again fell back a pace.

"Unacceptable." The word was a whisper but somehow clear. "South End needs seed and implements for planting. As it is, their harvest would be meager were it sewn today. If they do not have aid within a week, they will starve come winter. "

"Lord Earendil," she continued, raising her right hand palm up and reaching backwards over her shoulder. The large man had moved to stand behind her, his towering form not helping Ranulf's confidence, and unfastening the two middle buttons of his jacket, he reached inside and drew out a leather folio. Unfolding this, he produced a thick sheaf of parchments, placing it in Galadwen's palm.

"Look at these," the elf demanded, thrusting the parchments forward. "Look at the faces of the widows and the babes you condemn to a slow death through your inaction."

But Ranulf would not look at them, raising his hands protectively once again, he backed off yet another pace.

"You will not look upon the faces of your subjects? You will not acknowledge them?" Her voice rose now, and for the first time it's anger was clear. A nervous ripple moved through the crowd watching the leader of their city cringing in front of the tiny form of Galadwen.

"My dear, I cannot simply dispense with the formalities of governance."

Holgier grimaced. It was the wrong answer, even if, in a city as ruled by formality as Esgaroth it was true. By the morning the city would be calling the master heartless and cruel. The security chief in him began making plans in the back of his head to control the fallout.

"I cannot simply make this sort of a decision without council input," the flustered politician continued. "Looking at your pictures would make no difference."

"I would see your portraits." It was Khalim. He had apparently taken advantage of the distraction and was now standing at the foot of the grand staircase with his retinue at his back. The guards stood in a relaxed manner several steps above him, but their hands rested on the hilts of there long, curved daggers.

All eyes had turned when he spoke, his thick accent making his Westeron distinct. "If you would please permit? The portraits?" With this he walked a few paces onto the floor holding out his hand, those nearest him backing away nervously. To her credit, Galadwen had not snapped about at the sound of the newcomers voice, instead turning slowly and fixing the stranger with an appraising look. However it was Earendil who spoke first.

"You will direct your armsmen to stand back before I allow Lady Galadwen to approach." His voice was dark, deep and there was more than a hint of a threat in it.

The spy was impressed at the message it conveyed.

"Ah…" It was as if he had just realized that a black robed man, wearing a mask with four armed elven guards might seem a touch threatening at a banquet. "For this I do ask forgiveness." He said nothing, but flicked his fingers quickly, at which the four guards retreated, stopping at the top of the staircase their gazes still fixed on the crowd below.

Earendil now moved forward, positioning himself a pace to the right of Khalim. It was a good spot in Holgier's opinion. He could easily reach the stranger, but also intercept the guards should they move towards Galadwen. The silver haired boy gave a quick flick of his hand, and Galadwen came forward, stopping a pace in front of the Easterling.

Khalim lowered his eyes, bowing slightly and touching his forehead with the tips of his fingers. It was a greeting Holgier had seen the foreigner use before, although in this instance it seemed deeper, and more reverential. Galadwen acknowledged the salutation with a small nod and the slightest of curtsies. Her eyes were on the stranger, but they darted frequently to the elves at the top of the stairs. Holgier appreciated her curiosity. Easterlings were a rarity to be sure, but eastern elves were unheard of. None of his inquiries along those lines had turned up any mention of them before.

For a moment, the thin man took his eye off the scene at the bottom of the grand stairs, turning instead to look for Arawel and Leindir. Reading their reactions to these new arrivals might be enlightening, but at first the spymaster couldn't find them. After a quick scan of the hall he saw them some distance away, standing next to some doors that led out and into the kitchen area, Leindir positioned protectively in front of the ambassador . It was difficult to see their faces at this distance, but it was obvious Leindir at least took this to be a threat.

"You will help these people, Lord….?" Galadwen's voice brought Holgier's attention back to the stairs.

Leaning forward, Khalim might have answered, but with his face concealed it was impossible to tell. Galadwen seemed to reply, but in her case her back was to him, and he couldn't see her mouth. The words exchanged must have had some importance. At first Earendil's face darkened notably, his focus moving from the elves above him to the Easterling, but this only lasted for a moment. His glare was replaced with a small smile, his eyes returned to the guards.

It seemed to Holgier that Galadwen was smiling as well as she straightened up from the quiet words she had just shared. "If there is a chance you can help, good Khalim, then I give these pictures to you freely," and with that she pressed her art into the Easterlings gloved hands.

Unfolding the papers, he slowly flipped through the first few pieces. "You are steady with your hand, my Lady," he remarked, his eyes still on the drawings. "Your eye, it sees more than most." Holding out a single sheet, he turned it around for Galadwen to see. "This woman?"

"Runa," Galadwen responded firmly. "Her husband, and father died defending the crops. Her son was badly wounded, and succumbed to his injury a day later. The small girl in her arms is her daughter, Eilif. The girl will die come winter without help."

"Their names, you remember them all?"

Galadwen shook her head. "To my shame I cannot, although I remember their faces to a one."

Khalid nodded slowly. "Hopeless are her eyes," he sad sadly, looking back down at Runa.

"She has no reason to hope," Galadwen agreed, "unless we act."

"Then Khalim shall act," he replied solemnly. "To save them all, it is not possible for me to promise. My oath can be only to do all I can, fair lady."

Now the elf's smile was evident to Holgier even from the rear, and she bowed her head in thanks. "It is a greater commitment than I have received from others of late," she responded, her head turning almost imperceptibly over her shoulder, clearly directing her words to the Master of Esgaroth now cowering against the back wall. "I trust you will do your best, and I judge you a man of honor."

Khalim lowered his face. Closing his eyes, he touched his lips with two fingers, then his forehead and finally his left breast. Holgier had never seen the Easterling do that before, but it's meaning was clear. "I would be reminded of my oath, and of the people to whom I pledged," the masked man said softly. "May I ask of you permission to retain their pictures?"

Galadwen nodded. "I commend them to your care, Lord Khalim."

Tapping the Easterling on the shoulder, Earendil handed him the leather folio. Receiving it with a nod, Khalid folded the pictures back inside and looked around the hall at the stunned audience.

"My fear is that I disturbed the dance," he said in a dry tone. "The master was about to close I believe, before my interruption." With that he bowed towards Ranulf. "Receive my apologies, my lord."

A flustered Ranulf waved a hand in what might have passed as acceptance, but Khalim had already returned his attention to the elf. "So I will go. We will meet again, if you wish?"

Galadwen nodded. "I would be honored. And if I might accompany you, I believe we will be leaving as well."

Following Khalim, Galadwen climbed the first few steps before turning to face the crowd of wealthy guests gathered below. "I thank you all for the kind words and for such a splendid meal. I am sure Lothlorien and Esgaroth have a long and profitable relationship in front of them."

Holgier was slightly surprised at how many in the hall returned the golden haired woman's polite nod, and turning, she linked arms with her giant and glided from the building. Immediately the crowd came alive, people turning to their neighbor, animated conversations springing up everywhere.

Holgier couldn't remember a more eventful evening. "Smaug's last visit, perhaps," he thought with a cold laugh, but in truth there was little to laugh at. Galadwen had come with a plan, and while she had failed to get the help she desired for South End, it was far from clear that this had truly been her goal. Ranulf had been crippled, perhaps ruined. His callous disregard for his constituents would be all the city would be talking about by noon tomorrow. As his security chief, this type of political disaster was not really his responsibility, but Ranulf losing power could prove to be terminal to the plans Holgier had laid. Somehow he would have to convince the master of Laketown that he should go ahead with his designs on Dale and it's royal family. Perhaps the schedule should be moved up?

By now Ranulf's attempt at giving his closing speech had failed, the guests completely involved in their own conversations paid him no mind, and many were making for the exits. Stunned and dejected, the master abandoned the floor, heading towards the door that led his private apartments. Holgier fell in behind, already putting together what he would say when asked what had happened. While the details would take much time to explain, it was really a simple story. Whatever goal Galadwen had in mind, she had executed her plan magnificently. The battlefield was hers, and it appeared she clearly outclassed her enemy. But perhaps Holgier could still win his own private skirmish before Ranulf lost the war.


End file.
